Little Lion Man
by PsychoWing
Summary: Carlos has been dating the Voice of Night Vale for six months, long enough that he's almost terrified with how comfortable he's gotten with the strange man. He knows he needs to take the next step in the relationship to see if Cecil is really the man for him, but he isn't sure he can take the consequences. What he doesn't know is that he's not the only one with secrets. (CONTINUED)
1. The Six Month Date

Disclaimer: I do not own Welcome to Night Vale or the characters therein. I also do not own this story. I'm reposting it here at the request of my friend, Irakey, and she doesn't own WtNV or the characters.

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Carlos let out a hiss of air between his teeth as he thumbed the plunger of his latest needle, pressing it down. The weekly ritual ended when he threw the needle into a biohazard bag, sticking a plain bandage on the injection site – purple ones lately, since the grocery store seemed to dislike ordinary tan strips. The thin white scars in the crook of his elbow, and the purple bandage, were easily hidden under his layers of clothing: white undershirt, plaid shirt rolled to said elbows, white labcoat. Dressed, he glanced at the mirror, trying to ignore the self-conscious grin his reflection was giving him as he attempted to smooth the unruly mess of curls attempting to overtake his face. Ever since Telly's breakdown, he hadn't dared cut it again. And that was nearly a year and a half ago.

His phone rang, making him jump as he inspected the growing grey in his hair and the bit of hair along his jaw and neck. His heart jumped when he saw who it was.

Cecil.

Or as Cecil had programmed himself into Carlos's phone, _Cecil 3_. He had never bothered changing it, even before they had started dating.

Hey, are we still on for tonight?

Oh, right. The mirrors' antics had completely driven the date out of his mind. He glanced at the calendar and smiled. Six months already huh? Shouldn't be surprising. Time didn't work the same way in Night Vale.

_Yes Cecil. Coming to your apartment after you're done for the night. Don't upset sm. 3_

The phone buzzed again but he ignored it, focusing on his fidgety reflection. Mirrored Carlos looked nervous, glancing down at something on the sink and fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. Carlos blinked, realizing for the first time that his reflection might have the same problems as his regular self. He sympathized, but couldn't stay. He needed to get to work.

On the short walk – contrary to popular belief, Carlos didn't actually live at the lab, his cramped apartment a block away instead – he felt panic about the night build. Six months. How had they lasted so long without something traumatic happening? Oh sure, there had been the time the tiny people had nearly killed him, or the time the Whispering Forest attempted to have Cecil and he join their quiet ranks. Dana's escape attempt had been a week of unrest for the whole town, since her leaving had unleashed a horde of zombie rabbits on the place, and now there was a ban on carrots on top of wheat, wheat by-products, and writing utensils. But that wasn't really as important as what terrified him now. Because this wasn't something that was Night Vale weird. It was just…weird.

No, he couldn't think of it. Cecil had been so patient up until now, accepting Carlos's pathetic excuses with a grin and a kiss. The closest they had gotten to second base had included a near nervous breakdown on the dark-skinned man's part. He still hated himself for it because Cecil more than ever treated him like he was a fragile china doll.

But he couldn't think of this. He had a job to do and mirrors to study.

"Perfect Carlos and I are going on our six month anniversary date tonight, dear listeners." The radio was under the window, out of the way as Carlos and his surviving (and remaining) fellow scientists tried to understand an ancient mirror from which all the animated reflections seemed to originate. Could they dissect it? At Cecil's Valley Girl voice though, his friends were distracted, smiling and elbowing Carlos good naturedly as he asked for a magnifying glass. "We're going to Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex because like it's to celebrate how we started dating to begin with. Isn't that neat!" A moment of dead air and a low, exasperated groan. "Neat. I think I'm going to ask the City Council to ban that dreaded word." Carlos laughed now, accepting the magnifying glass as Cecil continued to talk. He was used to the Voice of Night Vale talking about their dating life in detail to the public. No one seemed to mind or even treated him differently, except to offer him lavender chewing gum. He didn't know how many times he explained his detergent was lavender smelling and he had washed his gum on accident that day. For that matter, who made lavender chewing gum anyway?

"Carlos, if you need anything, let us know, okay?" Trisha, his number one assistant, a tiny brunette from the college that had contracted him for this excursion, was at his elbow.

He smiled a bit shyly at her, looking at the mirror to try and keep from being too flustered. "Thanks Trish, but I think I'll be okay. Cecil and I seem to manage as it is."

"I hate to be presumptuous," she continued in a tone that sounded like she hadn't heard a word Carlos had said and didn't mind at all being presumptuous, "but I think you've led Cecil on for quite a long time."

"What?" He felt the back of his neck flush and was briefly glad for the mop of hair and high collar that hid his blush. "I-I'm not sure what you mean." He looked to his fellows, but they didn't meet his eye, suddenly very, very interested in the mirror. Oh. Trisha was their spokesperson then.

"You know exactly what I mean," she argued, crossing her arms. "Carlos, for a highly intelligent man, you are thick as mud sometimes."

"Thanks," he said halfheartedly, setting the magnifying glass down and turning to meet her eyes. "I don't remember asking for anyone's advice in my love life, scientist or Night Valian."

"Well congrats, because you're getting unwanted advice. We're just worried about you Carlos." She touched his arm lightly, the worry showing on her face. He tensed under her touch. "A lot of us remember how isolated you made yourself in New York. We're happy that you found someone – weird as this place is. We don't want you to lose Cecil."

Carlos frowned more deeply, outwardly calm, inwardly jell-o. "I'm not going to _lose_ my boyfriend Trish. Did you not hear him? He's perfectly happy with the pace we're going. I didn't ask for any of your opinions, so if we're done discussing this, can we please figure out why our reflections are moving independently and trying to leave the mirrors?" His voice went up a pitch and he knew that even with his dark skin, his angry, embarrassed flush was very visible.

"Sorry." The apologies were mumbled and no one could meet his eye. He was glad he had already decided to clock out early, leaving at their lunch break, too furious to realize he hadn't properly shut the door against the desert heat. He took the long way home, breaking into a run and ignoring Erika and Erika as they tried to greet him. He just ran faster; he didn't need to get stuck in an hour long conversation with Josie about clouds again.

He made it home about ten minutes later than it usually took to walk, having gone around the block twice before stopping, a sweaty mess. The air conditioning was a welcome relief, and after securely locking the door and checking for any bugs the Sheriff's Secret Police had placed in his absence, he went into the bathroom, locking that door as well to shower.

His reflection smiled as Carlos started to strip, lab coat, plaid shirt, undershirt. He hesitated at the last layer, closing his eyes before struggling to pull it over his head. Almost immediately, his breathing eased. Nearly twenty years of wearing a binder and it was always easier to breathe without it. He finished undressing quickly, refusing to look at his body or his reflection as he stepped into the tepid water.

Cecil could never find out Carlos's secret; the scientist had grown too fond of the radio broadcaster. Carlos tentatively touched his tender breasts to clean, a remnant of an already small chest. As always, his eyes were tightly shut and, despite himself, he imagined Cecil touching him like this, so intimately. He stopped, the now burning water jolting him from his tortured imagination. _Cecil_ _couldn't find out. _The man would leave him. Carlos wasn't sure he could handle it, not again.

Carlos had been born Claudia Maria Ricardo, the middle child of three. When his older brother wanted to fight, Claudia had been right there in the thick of it, giving as much as he took, sometimes more. His parents recognized his tomboyish attitude and overreacted. All his clothes were feminine, dresses, skirts, pink, and lace, and he was forbidden from such scandalous behavior like fighting, racing, and making mud pies. When he was older and wanted to cut his hair, they refused. When he cut his own hair, he was grounded – from his preferred clothes, hand me downs from his big brother.

"Why can't you be more like your sister?" he was asked on more than one occasion.

"What do you want from me?" was his reply, always mentally, not daring to test his father's temper and mother's tears. He was good at school, isolating himself by reading and studying, loving science and math and explaining how things worked. He got into college on scholarship, and that's when he discovered herself.

Transsexual and gay were two taboo words at the Ricardo house. Gay came when his brother revealed himself to be bi, fleeing to the military when their parents reacted as they always did to things that didn't fit their worldview, by trying to crush it. He kept his newfound identity as Carlos a secret throughout undergrad, but at graduation, the truth came out anyway. Somebody called him Carlos in front of his Papa.

Again, the reaction was typical. They refused to talk to him, especially when he started taking HRT and saying Carlos instead of Claudia. He was basically disowned now, though George and Anna still talked to him when the signal reached them from Night Vale. Without his parents' support, Carlos had gone deep into debt. This Night Vale project was meant to help ease his debt, but he was pouring more money into it than ever. Scientific supplies and gas was expensive, and out of town mail never shipped to the right place or time.

The phone once again made Carlos jumped, and he shut the water off before climbing out and answering. "Hello?"

"Carlos! I'm not calling for personal reasons. The weather is playing right now so I just wanted to make sure you weren't being eaten by your reflection."

Cecil's voice had a simultaneous calming and unnerving effect on Carlos right now. He was really glad he debugged his bathroom every time he changed. Otherwise Cecil would surely know about his abnormality. "No, I've not been eaten. In fact, I just got out of the shower and am surprisingly unscathed. Why, has that been happening?" He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his torso before leaving the bath and going to pick out something more suitable to wear bowling, something that hopefully didn't look bad next to whatever Cecil chose. He grabbed a blanket for the mirror too, not wanting to take any chances with a ravenous mirror image of himself.

"Just once or twice," Cecil said a little absentmindedly. "The weather's nearly over. I'll see you tonight?" The hopefulness in his voice was almost heartbreaking, certainly endearing.

"Yes Cecil, you'll see me tonight and I'll see you. Stay safe."

"Stay safe."

They hadn't said 'I love you' yet, on Carlos's insistence. They hung up one right after the other, and Carlos hung the blanket up before getting dressed. Plaid again. He couldn't help that Cecil had stolen most of his sweatshirts, and the desert was surprisingly cool at night.

He left the lab coat at the apartment though, despite Cecil's weird insistence that a scientist should wear one at all times.

Cecil's apartment was pretty different from Carlos's. Where Carlos had more or less a teeny house with a bedroom, bathroom, closet, and…everything else, Cecil lived in a flat with only a privacy screen around the toilet and shower. When Carlos arrived, he walked up the rickety steps of the converted mansion, nodding at the passing hooded figure and trying to ignore the oozing black muck from Cecil's neighbor. Cecil himself was apparently watching for him because the door opened after the first knock. Carlos looked up at his boyfriend, laughing at the ridiculous get up he had on.

"And you wonder why I've started helping you pick out clothes." He entered, pushing into Cecil's arms for a hug.

"I don't see what's wrong with this outfit," Cecil whined a bit, closing his door with his leg and squeezing Carlos tight before the smaller man leaned up for a kiss. Cecil grinned into the kiss, nipping lightly with too sharp teeth before reluctantly disentangling himself from perfect, beautiful Carlos to look down at the hot pink furry tunic and pinstriped trousers he had dry cleaned especially for tonight. Carlos laughed again, not bothering to stifle himself.

"I know you have perfectly presentable clothing. And it's not like we're going anywhere fancy. Come on, let's get something else for you to wear." Cecil draped his arms over Carlos as he looked through what passed for a closet here – an exposed pipe of some sort that held all of Cecil's clothes. After a moment of thinking, he grabbed one of his own college tees and a long sleeved shirt, throwing it over his shoulder and nearly catching Cecil's glasses. "Here, try these. They almost match your pants."

"Okay Carlos. But one of these days you must let me dress you. Okay?" Cecil reluctantly pulled away, watching Carlos sit on the edge of the bed before tugging the tunic off.

"O-okay," Carlos replied, a bit distracted. He was pretty certain his tattoos had moved from the last time he had seen Cecil shirtless. His cheeks were aflame again, and somehow Cecil noticed, pausing as he pulled the long sleeved shirt on.

"Is everything okay?" His melodious voice was low, not quite how it was on the radio, neither silken nor Valley Girl for the moment. Carlos still flinched when Cecil pressed a hand against his cheek. "Did I do something wrong again?"

"N-no, you haven't Cecil. I'm just a bit distracted is all." He pressed into Cecil's hand briefly before pulling away, heart beating hard enough to bruise he felt. "Go ahead and get dressed. I'm going to get a glass of water."

"All right." Cecil watched him walk to the sink and get a glass before obeying. Carlos poured some lukewarm water and swallowed quickly, trying to calm himself as Cecil started describing his day. If only Carlos had the courage to tell Cecil, to let him out of this lie. But that was his main problem. Carlos was a coward at heart, at least with the things that mattered.

"And then Dana texted me this link of a hedgehog getting her first bath. It was so cute! I'll link you on Facebook, okay?" Dressed, Cecil stepped behind Carlos again, waiting for him to turn before he touched and startled him. He smiled broadly at Carlos, who couldn't help but mirror his enthusiasm.

"Happy sixth," he said, taking Cecil's hand to lead down to the radio broadcaster's car. Cecil happily leaned against him, not bothering to lock up. Of course not, Carlos thought. Who would steal from the Voice of Night Vale?

The bowling alley date was honestly uneventful, and Carlos was glad of the crowd there, talking to the couple like they were perfectly normal, distracting them both from the momentous milestone in their relationship. The governmental six month dating form had been filled out by Cecil already, just needing their signature. Carlos pretended he didn't notice the governmental first sexual intercourse report form, the date scribbled out at least twice. He was trying to not think about Cecil's expectations for the night.

It didn't help in the slightest that Cecil had indulged in a few beers, downing a surprising amount despite his thinness. He still walked and talked fairly well, though more 'likes' and 'uh huhs' were thrown in than Carlos cared for, but Carlos decided after watching the second beer inexplicably disappear that he would be the one to drive them home. Of course, to him home was his apartment, where he could keep an eye on Cecil (make sure he didn't wander into the hooded figure's apartment again, which had resulted in electrical burns for them both last time, and change in absolute privacy. Cecil sleeping over meant he needed some way to hide his secret without making it impossible to breathe or hurting himself more later. He was puzzling over that when Cecil's babbling caught his attention.

"How come we haven't had sex?" he asked, and Carlos gulped. Well, this certainly wasn't a good conversation to have with an intoxicated boyfriend.

"I-I'll explain in the morning, okay?" he said, glancing at Cecil, who was staring determinedly at him. "See, we're already to my apartment. Let's see if you've left any sweatshirts for you to borrow, yeah?"

"No, you're avoiding my question Carlos. Why?" He pouted, not at all looking like a thirty something year old. How old was Cecil anyway? The way he talked about the eighteenth century made it hard to believe he was entirely mortal. The thought didn't calm Carlos any. After all, time was strange in Night Vale.

He focused on parking, getting out and helping Cecil as well, smiling timidly at the thin man, though Cecil frowned back. "Cecil, I'll…I'll explain later okay? Not when you've been drinking. Please."

For a moment the Voice of Night Vale was silent, staring at Carlos like he was a puzzle piece who didn't quite fit with the rest of the puzzle. It was the most excruciating silence Carlos had endured. No, not quite. The first time Adam had undressed Carlos had been the most excruciating silence he had endured, followed by the longest walk of shame he ever had, arms wrapped tight around his stomach and a near car accident as he didn't bother checking the road. He shuddered to remember it.

The shudder must have been enough because Cecil smiled again, tiredly it looked to Carlos and nodded, cupping Carlos's cheek ever so gently. "I can accept that beautiful Carlos. Is it for scientific reasons?"

He relaxed minutely in his hand, wrapping his arms around Cecil and ignoring the fact Cecil was leaning against the opened door of the car and that probably his neighbors could see him and that might be an erection pressing against his thigh and Cecil might notice the lack of one on Carlos's part. As much as Cecil insisted he was perfect, and as much as his own mind insisted just the opposite, this simple embrace was truly perfection. He buried his nose in Cecil's stolen shirt, taking in a deep whiff of the cologne he wore. Musk and cinnamon and something unidentifiable. Cecil.

He could feel Cecil burying his face in his curls again, murmuring words into it. It sounded a bit like the chant of protection he had recited during their second date. Carlos shuddered, remembering Cecil had pricked his thumb at the end. To stop him, he tilted his head back, kissing Cecil as hard as he could.

That was a bad idea.

Cecil was kissing back, getting really, really into it, if Carlos's bleeding lip and the long tongue in his mouth rubbing needily against his was any indication. But it was the grinding, their hips rubbing together that Carlos couldn't take. He jerked away when Cecil started, trying to pin him against the car, Carlos half falling into the passenger seat. Cecil stopped, obviously confused by the sudden lack of Carlos until he looked down.

"Cecil, I-I told you I can't do that yet!" Carlos was frustrated to the point of tears and he kept his head ducked down so the tall man couldn't see that fact.

"I'm sorry. I lost control for a moment. Carlos…" Cecil was at a loss for words again, sensing that his boyfriend, his perfect, scientific boyfriend, was in distress. He kept his hands away, clutching at the edge of the car instead for support. "Should I go home?" he asked, surprisingly meek, remembering how Carlos had said that scientists stand alone.

"No!" Carlos shouted the word loudly enough that even the Sherrif's Secret Police poked one of their heads out of a nearby sewer grate in confusion. "I mean, no. Please. I want you to stay. This is a big step for me," he added silently, getting out of the car and carefully shutting the door. He locked it for good measure, taking Cecil's hand. Cecil followed, not daring to press his luck. He looked around curiously when they entered Carlos's apartment, making the scientist feel self-conscious again. He glanced at the radio next to the kitchen sink, hoping it wasn't really noticed.

Cecil's astute powers of observation were either impaired by the drink or limited to his booth in the broadcasting station because Carlos was able to get the man out of his pinstriped pants and into some sweats that almost fit him (his ankles were exposed, much to their amusement) before taking some clothes into the bathroom to change.

The latest bug was under the sink, and he crushed it underfoot, throwing the pieces away. It only took a few minutes to change, switching the binder out for a rather snug sports bra that, while it didn't hide his breasts, did make them nearly unnoticeable, especially under his baggiest shirt. He pulled on some especially thick sweatpants and hoped Cecil wasn't a cuddler. Teeth brushed, mirror firmly covered with the blanket, he left the small bathroom and crawled into bed with Cecil.

"Aren't you going to be hot?" Cecil mumbled, rolling and draping an arm over his shoulders. Cecil had taken most of the covers, and Carlos didn't wonder why. The man wore sweaters in the middle of July, for Pete's sake.

"Mm, more covers for you." He yawned, pleasantly tired from the day, able to block out the fact that Cecil's breath stank of beer and pizza and that he'd probably be pestering the scientist tomorrow for his secret. Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow, he decided. Besides, they might get eaten by his mirror image tonight, if the blanket didn't hold.

With Cecil's steady breathing and his arm draped safely away from Carlos's chest, Carlos found it easy to ignore the click as his door was opened by the Sheriff's Secret Police and the tock ticking of his backwards clock.


	2. Confession

There was someone sharing his bed.

Carlos didn't move, freezing under the heavy arm and – was that a leg or something else on top of his? He tried to think. Had his reflection escaped the mirror and instead of eating him fallen asleep on top of the real Carlos, possibly mistaking his bed for its mirrored copy? Or was it something worse? He couldn't get the courage up enough to peek.

'Come on Carlos, just look already.' Trembling, he barely cracked his eyes. Cecil's pizza and beer breath wafted over him as the taller man curled closer to Carlos, taking the edge of his pillow.

He relaxed, letting out his own pent up breath when his lungs reminded him he had been holding it for a good half minute. Cecil seemed to be smiling, even in his sleep. Carlos hesitated before curling up to him, letting his long leg and arm cage him in while he listened to Cecil's heart. Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. A comforting sound that his toking clock matched. He wrapped his arm around Cecil, suddenly grateful that the man had gotten drunk enough for Carlos to bring him home.

Cecil's grip tightened slightly at Carlos's movement, arm slipping down. Carlos felt a stab of fear, quickly pushing the offending limb back into place. But that simple motion threw his calm awry. Right, there was still that to worry about. Luckily, Cecil seemed to be out of it for at least a few more minutes, so he could think.

Logically, some small part of himself argued that Night Vale was already a crazy place, what with tiny people attacking, an invisible clock tower, that house that he and his team still didn't have the courage to knock on. But that small part of reason was all too easily crushed by past experience. Adam, Michal, Jintae. His parents. It was a crushing pile of disinterest and disgust. Not to mention Carlos's own insecurities. His body was more masculine than it had been in high school and the early years of college, thanks to the HRT shots he took and careful dress and conduct. But that didn't change the fact he hadn't been born male or had the courage and funds to complete his physical appearance. He tucked his head under Cecil's chin, shutting his eyes. He was lying to Cecil by omission. And now that he was given the chance to fess up, come clean, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

Cecil treated him like a man because he didn't know the truth, but once he did, the walls of Carlos's imaginary world would come crashing down. Maybe that was why he stayed here, in Night Vale. Not because of the interesting scientific and supernatural events that occurred, though that was part of it. Not because Cecil loved him and wasn't shy in telling the entire town so, though that part was even stronger. No, he could pretend here. Pretend that he wasn't born into the wrong body and pretend that he could be a lover if he wanted to be – that his reservations were from something other than his own disenchantment with his body.

Disinterest, disgust, disenchantment…for a scientist he was certainly being alliterative this morning. He laughed at himself, the sound waking Cecil.

"Carlos?" His voice came out in a croak, which made Carlos laugh harder. Cecil propped himself up on the elbow not tucked around Carlos's shoulders, blinking and grinning despite himself. "What's so funny?" His voice wasn't so croaky this time, still not his radio voice, that special, normal voice that still made Carlos's insides turn to mush.

"You're funny. You sounded like a frog." He kissed Cecil's nose, making the man grin slightly. "Where are your glasses? I don't remember you taking them off last night."

"They've probably landed under the bed and dissipated into the void by now. I've lost several pairs of glasses that way," Cecil explained, trying to kiss him. Carlos avoided this by rolling to his nightstand to grab his phone, making a note to test underneath beds at some point in the future. Cecil wrapped his arm around Carlos's waist, tugging him back to lie flush to him.

"Carlos, something is troubling you. You're tense and you were tense most of last night too. Was it because we haven't blocked the hole under lane five yet? Or did I say something wrong again?" His voice twisted a bit with concern, long fingers spreading over Carlos's shirt to trace aimless patterns, an echo of Cecil's tattoos, across his stomach.

Carlos wanted to pull away and hunch his shoulders and back until he was invisible, but that would hurt Cecil, and he was about to get hurt enough today. He remained in Cecil's grip, trying to calm himself down enough to keep his voice at a reasonable pitch.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong Cecil. Didn't we agree to tell each other if we do something wrong? And believe it or not, I'm still not scared of those little people." He reached up, feeling a fine scar hidden in his hairline. "Well, not that scared. I have a healthy, reasonable paranoia of them, but they've proven worthy of that, haven't they?" He attempted to laugh, Cecil's silence foreboding.

The radio broadcaster sat up, pulling the duvet and blanket off so he could look down at Carlos more seriously. Carlos shivered at the unexpected lack of body heat and covers, twisting a bit to see better and automatically covering his chest with one arm, as if by accident. "What's wrong?" he asked, as innocently as he could manage.

"You know that that day is not in the slightest bit funny Carlos. I was so, so useless then. Do you know how that feels, to be stuck reporting on something happening to someone so dear to you and…" Cecil trailed off, hanging his head. "It was the first time I absolutely hated my job. And then you were okay, well, alive, and we went to Arby's and there was…blood on your coat and your face was in bandages from crashing against one of those buildings but…but…"

Carlos sat up now, shocked that Cecil could still be so deeply affected by something that had happened ages ago now. He glanced down at Cecil's hands, hidden in the man's lap, feeling awkward. How did one comfort someone else about one's own near death? Physical contact was a good start. He placed a hand on Cecil's knee, trying to think of what to say that wasn't totally inane.

"You weren't completely useless though," he finally said, too meek to really be arguing back. "When I fell down and the Apache Tracker was scaring the little people away so I could be dragged out, all I could think about was how I didn't get a chance to actually take you on a date." He squeezed Cecil's knee, smiling when one of Cecil's hands crept out of hiding and wrapped around his. He looked up, meeting Cecil's eye. "And…I-I…I'm glad you met me at Arby's." That hadn't been what he was going to say, not at all, and he saw Cecil's face fall. No, he had royally screwed up.

Cecil smiled though, if a bit more weakly than usual, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. "I am too. And sorry. I know it's ridiculous to get worked up over something that happened months ago."

"No it's not! And I've been a real dick…erm…" He went red and ducked his face to hide any evidence. "I've been a real jerk to you these past few months. I just didn't want you to leave me, not like…the others." He could feel himself actually start to shake; it felt like an earthquake. "I can't do this," he whispered, shutting his eyes tight. It would destroy everything.

Cecil's hands ran up and down his arms in a soothing gesture as the taller man shifted, settling behind Carlos for a hug. His legs stretched out at odd angles thanks to Carlos sitting cross-legged, but neither man really paid attention. Carlos leaned back into Cecil, twisting his head to hide his face against Cecil's neck as the man talked. "Beautiful, perfect, intelligent, witty, brave Carlos. I assure you that your fears are unneeded. Nothing could possibly have me give up such a wondrous person to the masses. And this may be a bit presumptuous of me, but I don't think anyone could appreciate you quite like I do. And who would teach me about science? You know I've been very into science lately."

"Cecil," Carlos started and sighed, tucking himself closer to the man so he couldn't see his face when he finally found out. "I'm…really not perfect." Certainly not witty. "I've been keeping a secret from you. Because I'm a coward."

"But you aren't a coward! You go and do tests on the hooded figures and the glow cloud and other events you deem questionable all the time!"

He couldn't do it if Cecil kept interrupting him. He sat up reluctantly, not meeting Cecil's gaze but pressing a hand firmly over his boyfriend's mouth. "That stuff isn't important, not compared t-to us. Not as much anyway. I am a coward. I've not…I've been hiding it because…Cecil, I don't want you to think I'm disgusting or dishonest." His voice was shaking now, and he felt his eyes grow hot. Oh no, he was crying. Cecil hadn't pulled away from his hand yet but was staring at him with wide eyes, placing a hand gently on his wrist to steady it. Carlos only barely noticed, torn up emotionally as he was. "I…I can't do this. I can't have you leave me too."

"I'm not going to leave you Carlos." Cecil's arms were around him again, almost cradling him, at least the best he could manage with Carlos being a full grown man and all. When had he pulled away? "I would never leave you. You don't have to be perfect to be perfect to me."

Carlos felt free to bury his face in his own sweatshirt, trying to smell past his laundry detergent for Cecil's own scent and take comfort in it. He waited for his throat to relax, for his body to stop shaking, before he tried to talk again. He couldn't quite stop the trembling though, and he found one of Cecil's hands and laced their fingers together. Cecil said he wouldn't leave him. Cecil never lied. He opened his mouth and coughed, vocal cords refusing to work for a minute. Cecil didn't stop what he was doing, holding him tight, letting him take his time. If he looked up, he would've seen just how terrified Cecil felt, seeing Carlos shaken like this.

"I…" Deep breath Carlos, get the oxygen to your brain so the world will stop spinning. "I wasn't…born…male."

"Okay."

The answer was too quick, too short, too simple for Carlos to understand. He struggled to sit up, crossing his arms tightly across his stomach. He still couldn't meet Cecil's eyes. "No, not just okay. I…I lied to you. To everyone. I'm not…I can't be…"

"Carlos, are you a man? Don't think about your body. Just, are you a man?" Cecil's voice was firm now; he was trying to reach to Carlos through the fog that seemed to have surrounded his mind, refusing to let him realize that maybe, just maybe Cecil really didn't care.

Carlos was quiet for a moment, trying to push his problems with his body away. Even with all his doubting these past few days, few months, was he still a man? Yes. He'd been one since birth; his anatomy was his only problem. He nodded mutely, looking up at Cecil finally. Cecil smiled, not his full, carefree grin that he shared with just anyone, but something just as sincere and comforting.

"That's all that matters Carlos. If you say you are a man, then you are a man, and no one but you will change my mind. Besides, do you really think I'd let something like biology get in the way of us? I fell in love with you, not your body." He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Carlos's lips, making him flush and his stomach flop.

"The way you go on about me hair would lead some to think otherwise," Carlos argued, but there was no heart in it. He leaned into Cecil's arms again, thinking. He could feel Cecil playing with his hair, making the curls twist around his fingers while he waited for Carlos to adjust.

It all came out that morning. It felt like it took hours because Cecil would get lost on tangents or Carlos had to stop and calm down again. At some point Carlos stopped talking to turn and look at his bedroom clock, but seemed to have forgotten to even tok backwards and just sat there uselessly. Carlos decided to ignore it and hope Cecil wouldn't be late for his show.

"You don't understand Cecil. Sexuality and gender identity are very sensitive topics in the real world," Carlos was arguing. They were lying down again, Carlos's head on Cecil's chest because listening to his heart helped him stay grounded and because Cecil refused to stop playing with his hair. He wasn't sure how he was going to get the braids out.

"But I don't see why it should matter, except to people that are together," Cecil said. "In Night Vale we have plenty of non-gender binary citizens. Did I use gender binary right that time?"

"Yeah, you did. But Night Vale is different." Carlos was never more thankful for that than today. "I don't understand why, but between the Dog Park, Radon Canyon, hooded figures, and even that damned house that shouldn't exist and doesn't but we still see it, Night Vale just is."

"Well, I'm glad we're different. And those people in the past are fools," Cecil declared, and Carlos's heart jumped, making it hard for him to talk. He did a lot of crying that morning.

One thing he still refused was to let Cecil see him nude. He got up, showed one of his binders, grabbing his laptop to show how it worked. Cecil was curious and wanted to learn and understand, and Carlos was grateful. He could disconnect just a little by showing Cecil the world he had been living in for well over a decade now. He explained the shots, promising to give a better demonstration Sunday when he had to repeat the injection.

But he couldn't get up the courage to undress in front of Cecil.

Cecil understood, sort of. He was kind, even if he couldn't quite hide the disappointment. Maybe he thought Carlos didn't trust him, the scientist realized as he showered, grateful for the brief freedom for his chest. He pressed his forehead against the tiled wall, too drained to cry anymore.

"I trust you but I hate myself more," he had said, watching Cecil's confusion. He had driven the broadcaster home to shower and dress for work and hadn't bothered checking for bugs in the bathroom. Cecil knew, and though he had promised not to spill Carlos's big secret over the air, that was all that mattered. So what if the Sherriff's Secret Police found out now? They'd go to Cecil and Cecil would smile and say he knew that already, now how about those sandworms outside of town. They had kissed again, lingering on it, knowing that they both needed the time to process this information.

Carlos groaned when he shut the water off, realizing that Trish and everyone else would be needling him for details today. Well, they had gone a step further, sharing a bed. His fellow researchers didn't need to know all the details. And hopefully they figured out what the deal was with the mirrors.

His phone was on the sink as usual, in case of emergency calls. He had heard it buzz once, just an email or text asking where he was most likely. So he hadn't bothered to check. He was brushing his teeth when the blinking light got to him and he opened his phone.

There were two text messages, both from Cecil.

I love you Carlos. I'm not going to not say it anymore.

Two negatives cancel out, right?

Carlos laughed, much harder than he should. He was still shaken from the confession and his emotions were probably going to be out of whack for a couple of days at the very least. Once he calmed down, he tapped out a quick reply, pocketing the device.

Yeah, they do. I love you too Cecil. Stay safe today.

He left the house feeling like he ought to be floating. And maybe he was. He'd have Trish double check for him.


	3. Cecil's Scare

"It's May time listeners, so let's remember the rules of the desert: if it blooms, don't touch the flower because the cactus may actually be sentient and believe you are trying to steal its unborn children away. And now for the weather."

Carlos didn't look up from the clock he was trying to piece back together as some sort of techno – underground – dubstep – rap…who was he kidding, he didn't know the difference between country and pop sometimes. As the weather played, Carlos tried to nudge a bit of gray gloop back into place. It was simply too big. Then his phone went off, making him jump.

"Carlos!" Cecil's voice was so loud and happy, it made Carlos twitch. He had spent most of the day in silence, until Cecil's broadcast aired. "I wanted to call and see if you had any last minute updates on the mirrors," the other man continued, heedless to Carlos's holding the phone a good few inches away from his ear.

"I haven't. Our latest research indicates that the source might be coming from the Dog Park –"

"That may or may not exist."

"Come off it Cecil; you talk about it nearly every day," Carlos chided, grinning despite himself. Cecil's silence only confirmed that Carlos had made a point. "Anyway, I need you to give me Dana's number. The last researcher I sent to the gates disappeared, and since she's apparently safe, I was hoping she might help me and my other scientists out."

"Oh, okay. So I shouldn't say anything for right now?" Cecil sounded more curious than questioning and Carlos laughed.

"Cecil, you're the Voice of Night Vale. You're supposed to tell everyone what's going on, big or small." He paused. "I know that I asked you to keep my physical abnormalities a secret for now, but that doesn't mean you have to automatically assume that everything I tell you is top secret. Especially when you have the Sherriff's Secret Police telling you just about everything I do anyway."

The weather was coming to an end, so Cecil didn't have enough time to articulate a proper response. "Thank you Carlos. Will I see you tonight?"

"Of course. I love you Cecil."

"You too!" There was a click and Carlos put the phone down, glancing around the empty lab. He was glad no one had been there to hear him talk to Cecil; the words 'I love you' still got stuck in his throat sometimes, despite the truth in the words.

He set the phone down and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling decidedly tired after a day's work. Between the clock and the Dog Park, as well as his third attempt to work up the courage to knock on the nonexistent house's door, he had spent a lot of time peering at tiny objects and running around. An evening to unwind with Cecil would be just the thing.

But before he left, he needed to check his email. He pulled out his laptop, waiting for the slow connection to load up the web browser, keying in NYU's address. It was the university that had eventually took him on as a lecturer, only to realize he was a terrible teacher – overenthusiastic and usually late because he loved to dabble in what most considered pseudoscience. That's how he had ended up in Night Vale, really, despite his attempts to cover up the more embarrassing facts.

He had an email from the director of his program. A reminder that he had a presentation due in just two weeks, and they hoped he already booked his tickets to fly up because airfare is expensive nowadays and they had already gotten him a hotel room.

There was a second email, a reminder that he had tickets booked for next week and wouldn't he have a lovely day? Of course, the nearest airport was a good day's travel away. Carlos sighed, closing his laptop up without shutting it down. Was he even going to be able to leave Night Vale in time to make this meeting? What about samples, did he have enough samples for the labs back there?

Methodically, he packed up again, cleaning and locking the lab before he left for his apartment and shower. When he got home, he could hear Cecil signing off and quickly stuck his phone on vibrate, escaping to the relative sanctuary of steaming water. He didn't want to tell Cecil he had to leave for a few days, a week at the most. He couldn't even remember when his return flight was supposed to be.

He got dressed in his bedroom, enjoying the freedom the extra space gave him. Since telling Cecil the truth, he stopped caring if the bugs caught sight of him. Really, the Sherriff's Secret Police weren't a big deal; they just told Cecil everything they saw. His phone was blinking, meaning he had an email, text, missed call, something, but he ignored it, packing an overnight bag. He hesitated with the sports bra, wondering if he was willing to go without it tonight. He left it on his bed to think about, reluctantly picking up his phone.

It was a text, from Trish. He relaxed, reading it. Well, this certainly solved all his problems, hopefully. He sent a quick reply before telling Cecil he was going to walk to his apartment. Shouldering his bag, he headed out, helpfully leaving his door unlocked when he heard his bushes rustle. "I didn't break any bugs this time, so I don't see why you're here," he said, smiling. The bushes didn't answer.

Old Woman Josie and the Erikas passed him by with a promise of sweaters and cookies made without salt because some _fine young men _had needed it for a ghost project of some sort. He smiled and nodded, happy to escape into the converted house. A hooded figure passed him on the stairs, making his neck hairs stand on end. Probably hadn't forgotten about their impromptu visit, even if it had been months ago.

"Cecil?" He tested the door, keys out just in case, but of course it was unlocked. He slipped inside the still incredibly tiny apartment, looking about. The broadcaster hadn't made it home yet? He glanced at his phone. No reply to his text either.

He sent another text, deciding to start on dinner and hope there was a reply because Cecil not answering text messages was an impossibility. Maybe Station Management was loose again. He had missed the last few minutes of the broadcast after all.

In any case, he was pretty much helpless until he heard from Cecil. And it _was _Cecil he was thinking about here; the entire town loved him. Not even the City Council would think of hurting him beyond repair…right?

He remained tense as he cooked; contrary to popular belief, he wasn't that great of a cook (neither was Cecil). He was pretty good at bratwurst though, and commandeered a foreman grill to make the sausage. He had just finished the second link when the door to the apartment opened, letting in a slightly dazed Cecil.

"There you are." Carlos was one part nervous, one part relieved as Cecil turned and smiled weakly at the shorter man. "I thought you were coming back here after the broadcast. What happened?" Worry was starting to win out. Cecil looked like a doll with all the stuffing beat out of it.

"I take it you didn't hear about my unscheduled mandatory reeducation," Cecil said quietly, letting Carlos manhandle him back to the bed.

Carlos pressed the back of his hand to Cecil's forehead. No fever. "No I hadn't heard about that. Sorry. I wanted to walk over so my car didn't get sent to Desert Bluffs again." The very name of the opposing town brought a welcome scowl to Cecil's face. Anything to show that Cecil was still there after whatever happened during reeducation.

"It's nothing important, just a bit draining on the mind, body, and soul," Cecil said in a cheery tone decidedly offset by him leaning against Carlos, arm draped over his waist and head resting in the crook of the scientist's neck.

"That's not very comforting Cecil," Carlos said, carding his hand through Cecil's hair in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. Funny how used to being touched and touching he was getting. The intimacy was wanted instead of feared now, and Cecil didn't seem to mind it all. Relished it even, if his current nuzzling was any sign.

"Don't worry," Cecil insisted. "No one would make you go through something like mandatory reeducation. Not when you obviously have no need for it. I just have to go through it sometimes because sometimes I'm considered…a bit rebellious for a radio host."

"You? Rebellious? That's a new one." He kissed Cecil's forehead, noting how clammy it felt. Cecil smiled though, pressing into his touch, dragging him down for another kiss. Carlos pulled away, pressing a few fingers against Cecil's lips. "You greedy though, I can see."

Cecil whined in reply, and Carlos felt his entire body go hot briefly. He pulled away, helping Cecil tuck a few pillows behind his back so he was sitting up a bit without straining himself. He took Cecil's shoes off for good measure, to keep sand and dirt from getting in the bed.

"I made bratwurst and mac 'n cheese. I thought it'd be too plain but now that you're…probably a good idea anyway." He served them both, not letting Cecil steal another kiss until he was settled in next to him.

"Thank you for cooking for me tonight," Cecil said, snuggling up to him. "Your cooking is wonderful." He had barely touched his food.

"You've got the better bratwurst. Come on, you have to eat." Carlos set aside his own plate to attempt and feed Cecil. It felt ridiculous, but Cecil was acting so oddly. He was certain the radio broadcaster would do the same in the reverse.

Cecil watched blearily as Carlos cut up the bratwurst, obediently taking small bites and sips of water. He was smiling slightly, like he was caught in a dream. "Beautiful, perfect Carlos. You're suck a sweet, sweet man." Carlos just rolled his eyes, setting Cecil's plate down when the man refused to eat anymore, quickly finishing off his own and carrying both plates and glasses to the sink.

"Can you tell me anything about today?" he asked, the flight to New York temporarily driven from his mind as he stripped to a t-shirt and jeans, laying next to Cecil again. He didn't mind Cecil pulling him close, fingers in his hair.

"Today the City Council sent another of their messenger children. He had four eyes, two of which were green, and they all looked in different directions. He walked into the subway entrance, which was odd. I sent Paul to investigate, but I haven't heard back from him. Oh, and Carlos, on Facebook I saw the cutest video of a mother cat – "

Cecil's rambling was soothing. He sounded like himself, even if his grip was just a bit too tight for Carlos's liking. He started unbuttoning Cecil's shirt, running a hand down his front. Cecil paused for a moment to see what he was doing. "Keep talking Cecil. I've missed you today." That was all it took to get Cecil to start again, and Carlos rested his head against Cecil's chest, tracing a tattoo idly. He swore he saw it twitch.

"Carlos, are you even listening to me?" Cecil demanded, fingers disappearing from his curls. Carlos lifted his head slightly, scooting upwards, tracing his cheek.

"Yes, of course I'm listening to you. I'm worried you might have some memory loss, but you seem to remember what happened today perfectly, as usual. What about the reeducation? Can you remember anything from that?"

He got to see Cecil's cheerfulness fade back into a daze, lump growing in his throat. "I…I'm sorry Carlos, but I can't seem to remember." The lie was blatant, and Carlos started to feel even guiltier.

"It's okay. I'm sorry for asking. You…will be fine, though, right?" Cecil nodded, and Carlos leaned forward, kissing his forehead. "I'm sorry Cecil. I love you."

"Oh, perfect, beautiful Carlos, everything is all right. I have these all the time. I told you I'm rebellious." He reached up to Carlos, and the dark-skinned man was quick to place the hand against his cheek, leaning into it. "Please stop worrying. I don't want you to get more grey hairs because of me. I love you too much."

"I thought you liked the grey hair." Carlos pretended to pout. He glanced about the room shyly before pulling away. "Let me get changed, then I'll help you, okay?"

"I still don't get to see you?"

Carlos sighed. Cecil was certainly still Cecil if he was asking that. "No, not yet. I'm…I didn't bring the bra though. It'll be nice to finally have a chance to let everything breathe for once." He peeked at Cecil, relaxing when he saw a smile. "Give me a few minutes to change."

"All right. Thank you for trusting me." Cecil relaxed as Carlos went to hide next to the toilet, struggling out of his binder and taking a deep breath. His ribs felt sore, the tshirt airy and welcoming after a full day of compression. He brushed his teeth quickly and returned to Cecil, sans jeans. Cecil was staring up at him with awe, eyes raking his form and making Carlos feel like he was in his birthday suit.

"Please stop staring. It's not like you can see anything," he grumbled, sitting and watching Cecil undo his own trousers. He helped tug them down, folding and setting them on the floor. Cecil's arms wound around his waist, pulling him back. "Cecil!"

"I'm greedy too. I want you all to myself," he said softly, kissing the back of Carlos's ear.

"You already do." He leaned back reluctantly, trusting Cecil's strength. He pushed Cecil's wandering hands down. "The same rules apply as with the bra you know." A murmured apology and he felt Cecil kissing down his neck instead. "Cecil, please, not tonight."

"Why not? I have the required forms for anything filed…well, they were under the bed but I guess they've gone into the void now. I have copies at the station at least. I even have the chalk and the needed blood sacrifice to go…all the way."

"Cecil…" Carlos made a soft noise when Cecil twisted his head around and found a tender spot at the base of his neck. "What have I said about doing this?"

"You're tense. I'm just trying to make you feel better." He pulled away, hands massaging Carlos's back instead, making him melt. "I'm sorry though. I really don't want to push you."

"Then don't," Carlos said, half snappishly. Cecil dropped his hands obediently, laying back. Carlos remained sitting up, running his fingers through Cecil's hair absentmindedly. "Cecil, I do have something rather important to tell you. And you can't freak out, all right?"

"All right." He looked curious and a bit apprehensive. As well he should, considering the last time Carlos had used that as preamble he had gotten extremely sick. Food poisoning or some weird gas from the lab, the cause was still unknown.

"No, you have to promise not to overreact."

"All right, I swear on…on the Glow Cloud. Blood Scout's honor." He slipped an arm around Carlos's waist again. "Please tell me."

Carlos sighed, kissing his cheek. "I have to go to New York in a week."

"What!" Cecil voice rose so high, Carlos flinched and pressed a finger over his lips.

"Shh, do you really want the hooded figure to get angry again?" Carlos waited for him to relax before dropping his hand. "I have to go present a report in person to the university. It's a head start on renewing the grant."

"But why? Why now? Why you?" Cecil grasped at him, looking panicked.

"I'm the head of the research team and I decided the time well before we started dating. If it was me who picked it out to begin with." He pulled Cecil's glasses off, carefully setting them aside before cupping his cheeks. "And I want you to go with me."

"I…what?" Cecil blinked, not sure he understood correctly. "Go with you? To…New York?"

"Yes, to New York. I have plane tickets. Trish was supposed to go with me, but she's cancelled, so I have an extra ticket and you've never left Night Vale except for your trip to Europe even though I'm not completely sure where in Europe you went and I really want you with me." Carlos took in a deep breath, shaking from the lack of oxygen and nerves.

Cecil was giddy. "Of course I'll go to New York with you darling Carlos! How could I resist such airs and to be whisked away to an exotic land on the far side of the country? Oh, this is better than one of those harlequin romance novels Trish likes to read! Thank you so much!" And instead of a kiss, he tucked his head under Carlos's chin and squeezed him tight.

Carlos wondered briefly if those novels were the reason Trish suddenly cancelled on him. He pushed the thought away, kissing Cecil's hair instead. "I'm glad you want to come. We leave in about six days, so there's time to drive to the airport. Are there any forms we need to sign? Who will take over the radio show?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'll have station management take a hand at it?" Cecil joked, but his eyes were going hazy again. Carlos panicked, not liking that look. "Carlos, we'll have quite a few forms to fill out. But they were all under my bed with my left footed socks. I'll have to get copies from the station."

"We don't have to start on them tonight," Carlos reassured. "Let's just get you some sleep. You look exhausted." He shifted the pillows about until they were both lying down, Cecil curled up to Carlos's side, head on his arm.

"You're tired too. You need to sleep darling." The way he drawled the last word made Carlos shiver, smiling to himself.

"All right, I will. Love." He took a deep breath, letting Cecil's arm lay across him without shoving it further away. Still, it was a long time until he fell asleep, haunted by images of Cecil being hurt. His hands kept tracing over and over his back, checking for any hidden marks. But whatever happened, it wasn't physical. He sighed, burying his nose in Cecil's hair and falling asleep, troubled by nightmares of the vaguest sort.


	4. Road Trip

"Carlos, are you sure I can't bring Khoshekh?"

"For the last time, no. Even if you got him out of the men's bathroom, we can't take pets on the airplane." Carlos was laughing as he shut the trunk. Cecil was pouting.

"What if Terry forgets to feed Khoshekh or puts the water just out of reach and he's dead when we get back." His distress was quite genuine, but Carlos's mood was too high to let even this dampen it. He just pressed himself against Cecil's front, kissing the broadcaster. Cecil returned it after a moment, nipping lightly.

"Getting good at not giving me lip piercings with those teeth of yours," Carlos teased, making Cecil stammer briefly and rub his tongue across his teeth. "Come on, get in. We've got a long trip to get to the airport."

"Wait! Let me say goodbye to Khoshekh one more time, please." Cecil took off and Carlos wondered again who sold furry pants large enough to fit a fully-grown man. While Cecil was occupied, Carlos started the car, double checking his map. It was going to be a long drive to Austin, but he couldn't help that his bosses wouldn't reimburse the tickets so he could pick a closer city to fly from because Night Vale stubbornly refused to show up on even Google searches.

Cecil all but jumped into the car, hugging Carlos tight before deigning to buckle up. "Thank you so so so much Carlos. This is going to be great!" Cecil was all but bouncing in the seat.

Carlos pulled out of the parking lot around the radio station, resting his hand on Cecil's knee. "Cecil, we have a very long drive ahead of us. I'd try not to wear yourself out too quick or you'll get bored."

"Okay, sorry." He tried to restrain himself, but when they got to the Night Vale sign, he started bouncing again. "Carlos, Carlos, stop. Stop really quick please."

"Um, okay, why?" He pulled over obediently enough, waving slightly at the shadow attempting to hide behind a cactus. The shadow, surprisingly enough, waved back.

Cecil meanwhile was pulling himself out of the car and trying to get a small camera out of his pocket at the same time. He nearly fell over, not that it mattered. He was just so excited. "Carlos, let's get our picture taken here, to like, show off the start of the journey. Okay? Okay." He dragged Carlos into place despite his mild protests, wrapping his arm tight around Carlos's shoulders.

"I didn't know you were a photo album sort of guy," Carlos said right before the flash half blinded him. He blinked rubbing his eyes.

"Another one, just in case." Cecil's grin was infectious. Carlos smiled a bit shyly, half hiding in his lab coat (Cecil's insistence) and behind Cecil. Pictures done, they got back in the car and Cecil stared behind them, until the lights above Arby's were out of sight.

"So how did you convince Station Management to let you leave for a week?" Carlos asked. The sun was setting behind them and Cecil had been snapping photos of anything interesting they passed by, which wasn't much. One or two small towns and a gas station. Carlos had already decided to drive until he was too tired to drive anymore and they found a place to stay the night.

"Oh, I just sat on the far end of the hall and shouted as loudly as I could that I have about five hundred and sixty-nine days of sick leave, three or so years of vacation time, and I could write travelogues about the trip and talk about it on slow news days," Cecil replied brightly, putting the camera away since it was too dark to use without Carlos driving off the road (truth be told, this wouldn't cause much damage because of how flat the landscape was). "I was a bit scared for my life when the shadowy figures of management started thrashing about, but they came to warm up to the idea," he continued with a smile.

"So technically you're still working," Carlos said with a bit of a frown, daring a quick glance at his boyfriend.

Cecil was unperturbed, giving a brief shrug and playing with a clump of green fur on his pants. "I may be working, but I'm happy to be with you," he said, giving Carlos a small smile that made his stomach flip flop as butterflies attempted to take flight.

"I am too. I'm happy to have invited you," he mumbled, reaching out to take Cecil's hand again. Cecil tangled their fingers together and squeezed. His body was never uncomfortably warm, not like Carlos's, but right now Carlos swore he could feel electricity connecting them both. It remained that way even as the stars came out and they found their way to a tiny motel, crawling into bed and stretching out together, legs and covers a tangled mess as they enjoyed their privacy.

Carlos woke up a sticky mess, tshirt sticking to every inch of his skin, Cecil's arm incredibly warm and halfway across Carlos's face. He frowned, wriggling a bit before licking at it. "Cecil, wake up. It's too hot to be clingy." Cecil groaned, rolling away and laying his arm across his own face instead. Carlos sat up, fanning his shirt in an attempt to cool off. "Cecil, come on. We're barely in Texas. We got to get moving. It's like a ten hour drive." He stopped, covering his hand with his mouth. First neat and now he was starting to speak like a Valley Girl.

"Don' wanna," Cecil grumbled, rolling onto his side. His tattoos hadn't moved since last night it seemed, Carlos noticed with some surprise. And Cecil was looking a bit shiny with sweat.

"Cecil? Love?" He tugged on Cecil's arm, pulling him to face towards him. Cecil blinked blearily up at him, looking rather hazy-eyed. Panic rose in his throat briefly. "Cecil, what's wrong? Are you getting sick? Did they reeducate you before you got to leave?"

"Reeducate? No…I'm okay Carlos. Just…tired." He attempted to sit up, holding his head. "My head hurts. Weird."

Carlos wrapped his arms around him tight, stroking his hair gently. "Cecil, you look sick. Maybe you just aren't used to being outside of Night Vale. It could be stress."

"But I've been to Europe," he protested weakly, looking up at Carlos with a frown. "Remember? I did a whole show about it."

"Yes, yes, I know." He slipped a hand over Cecil's forehead, frowning. Cecil was burning up and the more he looked, the more washed out Cecil appeared. Maybe it was just his imagination and the ugly duvet and sheets. Maybe it was because his boxers were black with red hearts, anatomically correct, a Valentine's gift from Carlos. "Want to take a shower before we go off?"

When he got a mute nod, Carlos stood, pulling Cecil's arm over his shoulders to take some of his weight. "Come on. I'll start the water and everything. They have mini shampoos and body wash in there already."

"You won't stay?" Carlos shook his head slightly, too worried about Cecil to even blush. He set Cecil on the toilet as he fiddled with the shower, laying out a towel and washcloth as the water warmed up. "Did you remember to bring a razor and some shaving cream?" Cecil shook his head mutely, watching Carlos blearily. "You can borrow mine then. I'll lay out some clothes in the bedroom to help you put on."

"Thank you Carlos. You're such a wonderful person." Cecil attempted to lean back, failing horribly since the back of the toilet made him arch his back. He let out a frustrated sound, ignoring the awkwardness of the position.

Carlos hesitated a moment before sitting in Cecil's lap, careful to try and keep most of his weight off of the obviously sick man. "Cecil, look at me." He cupped Cecil's cheeks again, tugging him forward. "You have done so much for me, accepting me in this imperfect body and encouraging me to keep going when I was ready to give up. Why can't I return the favor when you're feeling sick?"

"Oh Carlos." Cecil's voice was a whisper, pulling him close to hear, and Carlos felt Cecil's too hot and dry lips against his own, fingers clinging to his hair. Carlos kissed back, letting Cecil control it for awhile before he pulled back, breathing a bit hard, stomach flip flopping again.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He stood, twisting his hands together and looking at Cecil's boxers. How was he going to do this? "Um, Cecil?"

"Do you not want to see?" Cecil tried to stand, wobbling a bit but managing under his own power.

Carlos plucked nervously at his t-shirt, thinking. He shook his head quickly. "You won't be able to stand and get those off then climb into the shower. At least the shower has a bar for you to hold onto. I'll h-help you finish undressing. Not…not like I haven't felt it before, huh?"

"True." Cecil gave a bit of a dopey grin, and Carlos wondered just how out of it he was. He decided not to think about it, letting Cecil keep his own balance as he tucked his thumbs under the faux silk of the boxers and hesitated. "Carlos?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to." Carlos looked up in surprise. Cecil was staring down at him, expression surprisingly soft, even if he didn't look completely lucid. "I know you're scared and I don't know your limits…I just don't want you to feel forced because I don't feel well."

Carlos felt his face split in two with the force of his grin. "Cecil, you're finally getting it. And hell, I don't know my own limits all the time, which makes it hard for both of us. But I do want to take care of you. I know you'd do the same for me."

Cecil seemed to be incapable of making words. He mouthed something briefly before smiling, taking a hold of Carlos's hair and tugging gently. Carlos laughed, kissing him briefly. "Come on, let's get you washed.' With that, he quickly tugged Cecil's boxers down, helping him step out of them, trying not to look directly at Carlos's groin. He straightened and took a peek when he wasn't level with it. Cecil was well-formed, pubic hair unshaved so it curled a bit wildly. Cecil shifted his legs, knowing Carlos was looking.

"Is…something wrong?" he asked.

"No, no! Actually, you're more normal than I thought." Carlos laughed a bit at Cecil's put out look and helped him into the by now very warm water spraying down, getting himself wet in the process.

"Well, I'm glad for that, I think. So, I shower and call when I'm done?" He accepted the washcloth with a nod of thanks, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Yeah. And don't worry. We can turn around if you want." Cecil shook his head quickly, spraying Carlos. "Okay, okay. Get clean you dork. I'll keep you safe." He backed out, leaving the door open while he searched for something semi-decent for Cecil to wear before remembering he'd need something tomorrow for the airplane and putting away the semi-sensible tunic and jeans away, going for some polka dotted pants and plain shirt instead.

"Carlos!"

"Coming." He returned quickly, helping Cecil step out, not really caring if he got wet at this point. Cecil was red-skinned now, giving him a bit of color, but that started fading as he dried off. "Are you okay with me helping you dry off?" Carlos asked, holding the towel between their bodies.

"I think that'd be perfect," he said with a laugh. So Carlos helped him dry off, ending up a stammering red-faced mess at the end of it. Cecil was still laughing, apparently either not at all shy or whatever was giving him a fever addling his mind enough to not care.

Once Cecil was dressed, Carlos slipped out and got them some breakfast. A couple of sausage biscuits. Cecil was content to lean against Carlos as he ate. Up until the point where he went and threw it all up, a horrible, apology ridden affair on both their sides. Cecil was clinging to the cool toilet bowl as Carlos got him a glass of tap water to swish and clean out his mouth.

"You're going home," he said firmly, crossing his arms and leaning against the sink.

"Not unless you're staying. It was just the wheat. It didn't go down well." Cecil made a face and turned, dry-heaving. Carlos bent down to rub his back gently, worrying.

"You really shouldn't keep going when you're having trouble standing, have a fever, and you're throwing up."

"You won't stay with me in Night Vale, you'll miss your flight, you might lose your grant because you missed the meeting, and I won't see if skyscrapers are real or not," Cecil protested, wiping at his mouth. Carlos stood and got the box of tissues, handing them over.

"Why do you keep doubting me? First Andrew shows you a real mountain, but you still aren't so sure about those, and now it's skyscrapers." He stood again, wetting a cloth and squatting to help clean Cecil's face up. "Why not go home and get some proper care. I'd only be gone a couple of weeks."

"No! I want to stay with you and see the world. Please don't send me back." Cecil forced himself to straighten up, slowly standing under his own power. "I can take care of myself."

Carlos wavered. On the one hand, Cecil was obviously sick, and it had to be a Night Vale thing because no one could get that sick that fast. On the other, Cecil was one of those types who would make himself worse by trying to follow or worrying. He stared at Cecil, who stared back, worrying his lower lip. One hot finger pulled his lip out from between his teeth.

"You'll get chapped lips if you keep doing that." Cecil's voice and touch were gentle, other than the unnatural heat from his fever.

"Sorry." He looked Cecil up and down again, sighing. "All right. But if you start getting worse before the flight, we're going right home, okay?" Cecil just started grinning. "What?"

"You finally started calling Night Vale home. I've only just noticed."

Carlos felt his already warm face warm further and spread down the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess so…okay, get out of the bathroom. I need to shower so we can leave." He started shoving Cecil out of the tiny space.

"But I need to brush my teeth…"

"Later. I'm a sticky mess."

"Oh really?" There was a suggestive tone and an even more suggestive eyebrow waggle.

"Cecil, you're sick. Keep a hold on some of your senses, please!"

Cecil grinned as he flopped back on the bed, rubbing his stomach tenderly. "I'll behave. I'm still excited about being with you."

Carlos nodded, stroking his hair back to kiss his forehead, picking up some things to wear before disappearing into the bathroom. As the water warmed up again, he rubbed his eyes.

Night Vale was home now. What an odd thought for such an…interesting place. When had he started thinking of Night Vale that way and not want to go back to New York? It probably had something to do with the angels, the Whispering Forest, hooded figures, and most importantly, Cecil.

Cecil made Night Vale home.


	5. New York and What Happened There

In New York, Carlos discovered his plans were drastically changed. Instead of getting to show Cecil the sights and prove without a doubt that the skyscrapers hadn't been built just because he came, he found himself going to the university during the day, only to cut out as soon as possible and get back to Cecil in the hotel. Cecil was still sick. Actually, he was worse. He looked like the life was getting drained out of him and simply walking around was proving to be painful. Carlos was at a loss of what to do except speed up his presentation as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, 'my boyfriend seems to be dying' wasn't deemed a good enough excuse, not when there were plenty of hospitals about.

Carlos picked up some egg drop soup and teriyaki chicken on his way back on the fifth day in the big city. He wasn't surprised to find Cecil out on the balcony, blanket on his lap, fast asleep with a voice recorder in his hand. Setting aside the food, he stepped out, bundling Cecil up and kissing his cold cheek. "Love, I got some dinner if you feel up to eating," he said softly, checking to make sure he was still breathing. Cecil stirred, giving Carlos a wave of relief.

"Carlos? Oh dear, sweet Carlos, welcome back. I must've fallen asleep while making my report for the day." Cecil pulled an arm free, pulling Carlos close for a proper kiss.

"I can tell. Come on, let's get you back in so you can warm up." He helped Cecil to stand, holding his hand tight as they walked back inside, one step at a time. Cecil sat at the table, refusing to be such an invalid as to lay down in bed to eat.

"Carlos, tell me what happened today. Did you show the grey stuff from the clocks yet?" Cecil started fixing dinner with shaky hands as Carlos set the things down in front of him, wrapping his hand around Cecil's when he tried to open the soup and nearly dropped it.

"Here. I should probably do this tonight," Carlos said softly, pouring half of the soup into a spare container he had brought along. "As for the grey stuff, not yet. It was more paperwork and a short overview of Night Vale to a small class of the paranormal. Which is apparently a class now. I guess a lot has happened in the rest of the world in the past year." He sat opposite Cecil, watching him carefully as he nibbled at the chicken. "Is it too hot?"

"No Carlos. I'm just not that hungry." Cecil set the chicken down. Carlos pushed the bowl of soup towards him instead.

"You got to keep eating Cecil. I know you've been throwing up, but you refuse to visit a hospital. I'm doing my best to cut out of here early to take you back to Night Vale, but everybody is being impossible lately and…" He swallowed thickly, taking his aggression out on the chicken.

"I'm sorry. I just got a bad feeling when you took me there and I couldn't stay. I've ruined the trip." Cecil hung his head in shame and Carlos sighed, loudly.

"You aren't ruining the trip Cecil, and at this point it doesn't matter anyway. I have my theories." He didn't elaborate for the moment, standing and pressing a hand against Cecil's cheek. "Just focus on trying to get better. That's all that you can do for the moment." He managed a small smile. "Regardless, I'm glad you're here."

Cecil relaxed a little, pressing his cheek into Carlos's hand very briefly before picking up the soup. "I should eat this, right? Then I'll lay down. I'm feeling awfully tired."

"All right." He sat again reluctantly, watching as Cecil ate slowly, testing every spoonful before he dared another. He ate about half the soup that way while Carlos finished, somewhat starved after skipping lunch, and went into the bathroom to change and get ready for bed.

"Carlos? Can I have some help, please?" He stuck his head out, struggling with his t-shirt, revealing his stomach. He quickly tugged the shirt into place, going to help Cecil stand.

"Sorry. I was trying to be quick but the binder…" Cecil laughed, making Carlos pause. "What is it?"

"I'm just amused by you." Cecil placed a hand against Carlos's belly, rubbing it gently. "And I finally got to see some more of your wonderful body."

"Cecil, stop it, please." He pushed Cecil's hands away. "Once we get you feeling better you can look at my stomach as much as you like." He was pretty certain he'd regret that later but it sated Cecil for now, who sat on the edge of the bed while Carlos undid his shoes, helping him out of his clothes before walking with him to the bathroom. They brushed their teeth, Cecil, bumping Carlos with his hips playfully, pushing him out of the way.

In bed, there was only the light from the city shining into the large room. Carlos was pressed against Cecil's backside, arms around his chest. He wasn't very worried about the small breasts pressing against Cecil; the broadcaster didn't even seem to notice the irregularity. He was too busy staring outside.

"New York City is such a bright, bustling place. You can't even see the stars; it's all void. Did you say you grew up here?" Cecil's voice, cracked as it was, was still soothing to hear, and Carlos was aware of how nasally his voice was in comparison.

"No, I just ended up here after college when I realized Kansas was a bit too small-minded for someone like me." He ran his fingers over the plane of Cecil's chest, dragging the covers up to their chins. "And it's not the void. It's light pollution from the city blocking out the stars. I've already told you this."

"I must not have been listening. Were we kissing when you told me that?"

"Stop teasing Cecil and go to sleep. I thought you said you were tired."

"It's a bit hard to sleep with you in bed with me. And the lights. They're so bright. No wonder they're no hooded figures or angels here. They would hate it here." Cecil turned, panting from the effort, and tucked his head under Carlos's chin. "Thank you for bringing me."

"I love you." He couldn't return the gratitude, not with Cecil so ill.

"I love you too." Cecil soon drifted off, leaving Carlos with his thoughts until he woke up again, needing to throw up. It was a cycle that he was rapidly getting used to, and what was exhausting Cecil even further. He put Cecil back to sleep while feeding him ice chips and telling him stories about college and the failed year of teaching. Once Cecil was asleep again, he got up to clean to keep the bathroom from smelling before he returned to bed, pressing his head against Cecil's chest, listening to the ever weakening heartbeat. He had to get Cecil home soon, where at least he would go to the hospital.

He had a theory though, and if he was right, once they were back at Night Vale, Cecil wouldn't need any medical care. As he started to fall asleep, he prayed to his parents' god that Cecil could make it back.

Four days. That was how much longer the grant board wanted to keep Carlos.

"Please sirs, I can't. I have an emergency happening right now. My companion needs medical attention, specialized medical condition that Night Vale General Hospital can provide." Carlos wished he could pull his tie off but stubbornly kept his hands wrapped tightly around the file he was carrying at the moment. Not only did he hate wearing ties, but it was a ridiculous one picked out by Cecil after they arrived, dark blue with palm trees.

"I'm sorry Doctor Ricardo but it'll take that long for us to decide on the evidence you've given us whether or not it's feasible to apply for an extension of your grant in two years. You've not even given us any samples at this time."

"Besides, what on earth could a general hospital have that we don't have in our own city? Come now Carlos, just take your companion to somewhere in town and enjoy the city while you can before going back to the desert."

Carlos scowled but remained silent until he could control his tongue. "I need to leave tomorrow. I've already booked the flight, and I refuse to cancel now, not with Mr. Baldwin so sick. I'll leave my research notes and the samples on your desk. Thank you for your time." He turned on his heel, ignoring their protests as he headed to the lab holding his samples.

"Dr. Ricardo!" The lab tech had to duck out of his way. "I was about to lock up for lunch, but I could leave the keys if –"

"I'm only getting my trays. If you wait a few minutes, I'll be out again." He brushed by her through the door, collecting a few trays with his name sloppily written in Sharpie on the side. He never had the best handwriting. He probably would've passed the qualification for horrible writing for medical doctors. He left just as quickly, barely remembering to smile at the obviously confused girl. He remembered being a lab tech, stuck at the whim of graduate students rushing to finish their research and professors whom didn't seem to understand why they couldn't have their own key.

A piece of tape with his name written semi-legibly fixed the Sharpie mess on the white trays (he wasn't entirely certain he had been allowed to write on them to begin with, but oh well. Now he'd be infamous). He triple-checked his notes, found a page missing, had to wait for the lab tech to return because he had left his thumbdrive in the fridge somehow, got lost looking for the library, found the library, printed off the missing page and another page that had coffee on it, re-paperclipped the whole mess, and had the entire project in the dean's office by four o'clock. Luckily, the woman had a business meeting at the moment, so he was able to sneak out and go to a nearby coffee shop to recharge without further harassment.

Sitting with a small decaf to warm his hands, he watched passersby travel to and from, making the most of their respective days. Cecil was probably watching too, if he wasn't asleep, and a small pang of guilt shot through him for not returning immediately to the most likely bored man.

But he needed some time to recharge, check his email, update his stats on Cecil's health, and think about if his earlier actions just cost him his grant, and thus, his job. He wasn't even on tenure yet, for Christ's sake. NYU could dump him like a sack of potatoes and no one would care. Well, theoretically, Cecil would, especially if it meant Carlos couldn't stay in Night Vale anymore.

He really ought to go back and apologize.

He went back to the hotel room instead, determined to get Cecil out of the room for a little bit at least. Maybe see a movie that wouldn't try and suck them into the action, well, literally anyway.

"Cecil, I'm back. I cut out early today so we can try and get out before going home." He was talking as he opened the door, stopping short when he entered and shut it behind him for safety.

The room was rancid, smelling distinctly of vomit and piss. The curtains were closed and the lights out, so it was hard to ascertain much besides the huddled lump under the covers. "Cecil?" The lump didn't move, and Carlos hurried to open the curtains and shed some light on the situation, though the smell got worse when he passed the bed.

Cecil was nearly as white as the sheets, which was a compliment to the sheets, considering no one seemed to realize that something called bleach existed in the hotel. The comforter and blanket had been twisted around and around until Cecil had trapped himself, one bare foot sticking out of the cocoon, his head twisted away from the mess on both the bed and floor. Carlos had to stay back, trying to resist the urge to vomit himself.

The thing was, Cecil had nothing in his stomach except for the little bit of water Carlos managed to coax him to take in the middle of the night. He had already thrown up everything in his stomach. And this didn't look like regular vomit either. It was thicker and an unsettling grayish-purple color. But it reeked like regular vomit and there were flecks on Cecil's face. The smell of urine, he realized, probably came from the usual source.

"Cecil? Are you awake?" The lack of movement, even to shield his eyes from the sudden late afternoon sunlight radiating through the balcony door, was unnerving and a horrible thought crept into his mind. What if Cecil was dead? Skirting around the mess, he climbed behind the radio broadcaster and pressed a couple of fingers to his neck, leaning forward to listen for breathing.

There was a horrible moment when he couldn't feel anything, only to realize in his panic, he had neglected to make sure he was touching skin and had pressed his fingers against the sheet instead. Cecil's skin was clammy to touch, but there was a pulse, faint as it felt. As he let out a sigh of relief, air brushed against his ear, warm and wet, as Cecil breathed out. He sat up slightly, inspecting the mess of man and blanket, starting to unravel it. The stench got stronger, making Carlos cough, but he only jumped up to grab a bandanna before continuing, wrapping it snugly around his nose and mouth, just in case.

Cecil let out a pained sound as he finally finished undoing the cocoon, curling up to escape the cold of the AC. Carlos saw that his t-shirt and boxers were stained too and sighed. He shouldn't have left Cecil alone for so long. He should've come back more quickly. He shouldn't have listened to Cecil, should've taken him home that first morning when he felt sick. Too late for that now. He ought to get Cecil cleaned up and those dirty sheets and clothes taken care of. He refrained from touching Cecil, knowing his own hands probably reeked and the last thing the other man needed was a noseful of his own mess.

"I'll be right back Cecil. I'm going to run a hot bath to get you cleaned up and warm again." Cecil didn't respond, but Carlos had a feeling the actual moving to the bathroom part would elicit enough of one and could wait. He started the water, adding some bathsoap to the mix right off the bat and washing his hands. Clean towel and washcloth out, tub filled to a reasonable level with almost burning water and bubbles, Carlos headed back out and saw that Cecil hadn't moved since he left.

"Cecil?" He saw something in Cecil's face twitch that time. Maybe he was trying to open his eyes? "Cecil, I'm going to get your clothes off out here so we don't track too much into the bathroom, okay?" He waited a beat before crawling onto the bed again, pulling on Cecil's shoulders so he sat up, sort of. Cecil whined, making Carlos flinch. "I'm sorry. I know it probably hurts." He pulled the shirt off painfully slowly, wishing he hadn't talked Cecil into wearing it to bed to keep warm. Cecil didn't make anymore noise, though when Carlos finally got to his boxers, he flinched, hard, scaring Carlos enough to nearly push him off the bed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The scientist, pulled Cecil back up, terrified that he had broken the man somehow, but he was the same, nonresponsive and limp in his grasp. Carlos sighed, kissing a patch of skin that wasn't flecked with grey before laying Cecil back and stripping him the rest of the way.

This had been a very awkward "vacation". Before now, he had seen Cecil completely nude once, and had been so shocked he had pretended to still be asleep when Cecil turned around, missing out on some key visual information. Now though, he wasn't very interested, though it was nice to know that Cecil was, well, normal, down there.

The real crux of the problem became evident when Carlos managed to drag Cecil to the other side of the bed. Even light as he was getting, Cecil was still taller than Carlos and Carlos really wasn't that strong.

"Cecil, I need you to wake up please." He wrapped Cecil's arm around his neck, trying to hold him securely around the ribs. "If you don't try and help, you're feet are going to get carpet burn. You're too tall for me to carry." Cecil moved slightly, arms flexing, head twisting slightly. "Are you awake? Cecil?" Carlos leaned forward and felt his heart sink. Cecil's eyes were open, but he looked dazed and rather blind. "It's okay. I'll do my best. Sorry Cecil." He stood, half carrying, half dragging Cecil into the bathroom. He sat the sickly man on the edge of the bathtub, easing him in. He picked up the washcloth, squirting more soap onto it and started cleaning. The movements and his voice, softly alternating between apologies and describing his day, slowly brought Cecil back to a dim awareness, lifting his head to meet Carlos's eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse, nearly gone.

Carlos smiled, letting the washcloth sink for now. "There's nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have taken you from Night Vale when you started getting sick. But we're going back tomorrow. Think you can last that long?" He saw the miniscule nod and found Cecil's hand, dragging the washcloth and wrapping his fingers around it. "I want you to clean yourself between your legs the best you can, okay? I'm going to clean up in the bedroom."

"No, don't leave," Cecil reached up for him, shaking from the effort. Carlos took his hand, wiping some bubbles away so he could kiss it. At the very least, his skin was retaining the heat from the tub.

"I'll be right in the other room. Want me to leave the door open? I'll make sure you're okay." He watched Cecil carefully, saw another tiny nod. "If you don't have the strength to clean yourself I-I'll finish up for you." He was blushing a bit now from the thought of touching there but he kept his voice steady enough for Cecil not to notice. He waited for Cecil to nod again before wrapping the washcloth around his hand again and going to confront the mess in the bedroom.

He ended up calling the maid service for clean sheets, hiding in the bathroom with Cecil and pretending he didn't have a basic understanding of Spanish, enough to understand what she thought of them. Cecil, thankfully, only minimal help in cleaning, both of them deciding that just sitting in the water helped. Carlos got some of his spare clothes out, and though the boxers hung off of Cecil's hips, the shirt was about the right size. The clean sheets and comforter were welcome, actually warm from just being washed. Cecil managed to walk to the bed with lot of help, and Carlos tucked him in, going across the street for ice chips again before he curled next to Cecil with one of his books.

Cecil drifted off to the sound of Carlos reading, the ice melting in his lap. Cecil went quiet, moving the ice and adjusting Cecil until he was lying down, head in the dark-skinned man's lap so he could stroke his hair.

Carlos didn't go to sleep that night, reading and checking that Cecil hadn't stopped breathing.

Chapter Five and a Half:

Cecil was dressed first, in his most unassuming clothing – a pair of jeans and a radio shirt that happened to still be clean. Carlos didn't really bother looking at what he wore, only to realize on the cab ride to the airport that he very nearly matched Cecil. He laughed and pointed it out, making Cecil grin before staring out the window.

Cecil's appearance seemed to be unnoticeable by other people, Carlos soon realized as he entered the airport and bagged their luggage, letting Cecil cling to his arm for balance. Where he would've pulled the pair aside for a quick look over and maybe some testing, people were giving them a pass. It helped that this was the most animated Cecil had been in the past few days, clinging to Carlos but looking around curiously and asking questions. So many questions. Carlos worried that he had forgotten the first trip up to New York.

"Carlos, the trails in the sky behind the plane, are they chemicals sprayed by the vague but menacing world government?" Cecil was leaning heavily against Carlos, staring out at the plane they were to board shortly through lidded eyes. His face was flushed from the exertion of walking, skin still clammy, but at least his eyes weren't glassy from his fever. Carlos stroked his hair, arm twisted awkwardly to enable it.

"No, they don't do anything like that. It's just water from the engines." He laughed a bit, standing when they were called to board and ignoring how Cecil's legs trembled from weakness. They were headed home. He would be fine in a day, two at the most.

"Boarding passes?" Carlos nudged Cecil to get to his bag, pulling out the papers. There was a moment of the usual panic – what if this wasn't the right plane or time or date or what if Cecil's illusion of health failed and they got pulled aside and Cecil was forced to go to a hospital and – but the passes were being handed back with a nod and lipsticked smile, and Carlos quickly walked by with a nervous returning nod. He had to pull Cecil in front of him when they boarded, supporting him as inconspicuously as possible. Luckily it was early enough in the morning that no one really cared. Most seemed ready to nap their way through the four hour plane ride.

Cecil settled in next to the window, forehead pressed against the glass. Carlos sighed. "You have to buckle in. This isn't Night Vale; seatbelts aren't fashion accessories you get to ignore." He tightened the belt around Cecil's waist.

"Sorry Carlos." He sat up a bit, only to slump against Carlos instead.

Carlos started to stroke his hair again, peeling off his coat (not a lab one) and draping it over his shoulders. "Try and get some sleep, okay?" There was a small nod and Cecil's grip loosened after a few minutes, before they even took off.

Barring some turbulence that woke Carlos but not Cecil, the plane ride was uneventful. They had lost one suitcase of Carlos's things, which was too much of a headache to fight about when Cecil looked ready to throw up again. They got into the bathroom just in time, avoiding making a mess. Thankfully, it was the regular sort and not that horrid purpley-grey junk from before. Carlos had him brush his teeth, ignoring the looks they were getting from other men as they came in.

And of course the charges for parking were exorbitant, but he paid them mutely, darting little glances at Cecil as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pawing at the seatbelt, rubbing at the deep rings under his eyes. Carlos waited until they were headed out of the too-large, too-busy town to take Cecil's hand. "Come on. We're nearly there love. Try and sleep some more."

"Oh Carlos. I'm so sorry that I totally ruined everything. Maybe next time will be better." Cecil twined their fingers together, still fidgeting. Carlos sighed, settling in for the long drive. He didn't have the heart to tell Cecil that no, there wasn't going to be a next time.

As the sun continued its path through the sky and the land steadily grew more barren and desolate, Cecil's fever finally and thoroughly broke. Carlos was relieved to have the air turned down a fraction when Cecil woke to complain about the cold, and even more relieved that his skin was gaining its color back. He noticed the second point when he stopped for gas and Cecil managed to climb out of the car on his own, long fingers on the roof of the car for balance.

"I'm not shaking." Cecil's astonishment made Carlos laugh and he shook the gas pump to take care of any stray drops before pulling it out of his car. He moved quickly, hugging Cecil tight, burying his face in his chest. Cecil even smelled like himself again, though the sick was still there.

"I'm so glad. You'll be fine in a few hours," he whispered, deciding he'd drive through the night if need be. Cecil couldn't be separated from Night Vale, he realized. He was too deeply connected to the town; it may even have extended his life beyond a normal human's (he was still unsure of Cecil's actual age and he hadn't changed in the past near two years).

Cecil's fingers were in his hair and there was a mild protest as Carlos pulled away, hiding his face. It felt wet. "I'm going to run to the bathroom and we'll set off again." Before Cecil could protest, he hurried away, not wanting the man to worry about him crying. As relieved as he was, and these were tears of joy, something had just hit him.

Cecil could never leave Night Vale without getting sick. He had nearly died in New York; he was sure of it. So how could he possibly have gotten to Europe? The possibilities made him sick to his stomach.

What secrets were Night Vale keeping?


	6. The Trip Home

Cecil was dressed first, in his most unassuming clothing – a pair of jeans and a radio shirt that happened to still be clean. Carlos didn't really bother looking at what he wore, only to realize on the cab ride to the airport that he very nearly matched Cecil. He laughed and pointed it out, making Cecil grin before staring out the window.

Cecil's appearance seemed to be unnoticeable by other people, Carlos soon realized as he entered the airport and bagged their luggage, letting Cecil cling to his arm for balance. Where he would've pulled the pair aside for a quick look over and maybe some testing, people were giving them a pass. It helped that this was the most animated Cecil had been in the past few days, clinging to Carlos but looking around curiously and asking questions. So many questions. Carlos worried that he had forgotten the first trip up to New York.

"Carlos, the trails in the sky behind the plane, are they chemicals sprayed by the vague but menacing world government?" Cecil was leaning heavily against Carlos, staring out at the plane they were to board shortly through lidded eyes. His face was flushed from the exertion of walking, skin still clammy, but at least his eyes weren't glassy from his fever. Carlos stroked his hair, arm twisted awkwardly to enable it.

"No, they don't do anything like that. It's just water from the engines." He laughed a bit, standing when they were called to board and ignoring how Cecil's legs trembled from weakness. They were headed home. He would be fine in a day, two at the most.

"Boarding passes?" Carlos nudged Cecil to get to his bag, pulling out the papers. There was a moment of the usual panic – what if this wasn't the right plane or time or date or what if Cecil's illusion of health failed and they got pulled aside and Cecil was forced to go to a hospital and – but the passes were being handed back with a nod and lipsticked smile, and Carlos quickly walked by with a nervous returning nod. He had to pull Cecil in front of him when they boarded, supporting him as inconspicuously as possible. Luckily it was early enough in the morning that no one really cared. Most seemed ready to nap their way through the four hour plane ride.

Cecil settled in next to the window, forehead pressed against the glass. Carlos sighed. "You have to buckle in. This isn't Night Vale; seatbelts aren't fashion accessories you get to ignore." He tightened the belt around Cecil's waist.

"Sorry Carlos." He sat up a bit, only to slump against Carlos instead.

Carlos started to stroke his hair again, peeling off his coat (not a lab one) and draping it over his shoulders. "Try and get some sleep, okay?" There was a small nod and Cecil's grip loosened after a few minutes, before they even took off.

Barring some turbulence that woke Carlos but not Cecil, the plane ride was uneventful. They had lost one suitcase of Carlos's things, which was too much of a headache to fight about when Cecil looked ready to throw up again. They got into the bathroom just in time, avoiding making a mess. Thankfully, it was the regular sort and not that horrid purpley-grey junk from before. Carlos had him brush his teeth, ignoring the looks they were getting from other men as they came in.

And of course the charges for parking were exorbitant, but he paid them mutely, darting little glances at Cecil as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pawing at the seatbelt, rubbing at the deep rings under his eyes. Carlos waited until they were headed out of the too-large, too-busy town to take Cecil's hand. "Come on. We're nearly there love. Try and sleep some more."

"Oh Carlos. I'm so sorry that I totally ruined everything. Maybe next time will be better." Cecil twined their fingers together, still fidgeting. Carlos sighed, settling in for the long drive. He didn't have the heart to tell Cecil that no, there wasn't going to be a next time.

As the sun continued its path through the sky and the land steadily grew more barren and desolate, Cecil's fever finally and thoroughly broke. Carlos was relieved to have the air turned down a fraction when Cecil woke to complain about the cold, and even more relieved that his skin was gaining its color back. He noticed the second point when he stopped for gas and Cecil managed to climb out of the car on his own, long fingers on the roof of the car for balance.

"I'm not shaking." Cecil's astonishment made Carlos laugh and he shook the gas pump to take care of any stray drops before pulling it out of his car. He moved quickly, hugging Cecil tight, burying his face in his chest. Cecil even smelled like himself again, though the sick was still there.

"I'm so glad. You'll be fine in a few hours," he whispered, deciding he'd drive through the night if need be. Cecil couldn't be separated from Night Vale, he realized. He was too deeply connected to the town; it may even have extended his life beyond a normal human's (he was still unsure of Cecil's actual age and he hadn't changed in the past near two years).

Cecil's fingers were in his hair and there was a mild protest as Carlos pulled away, hiding his face. It felt wet. "I'm going to run to the bathroom and we'll set off again." Before Cecil could protest, he hurried away, not wanting the man to worry about him crying. As relieved as he was, and these were tears of joy, something had just hit him.

Cecil could never leave Night Vale without getting sick. He had nearly died in New York; he was sure of it. So how could he possibly have gotten to Europe? The possibilities made him sick to his stomach.

What secrets were Night Vale keeping?


	7. Fight

"Cecil, Cecil! I want to be just like you when I grow up. I'm going to intern at the radio station and everything."

Picnics at Mission Grove Park were never an easy affair. Cecil's voice was instantly recognizable to anyone in Night Vale, and Carlos's lab coat had become iconic in its own right. So the little girl staring determinedly at Cecil really wasn't a surprise. And Carlos enjoyed watching Cecil dealing with children.

"Uh, that's great to hear. Just remember that the Sherriff's Secret Police have a strict screening process before you can work in the station," Cecil said, sitting up reluctantly. Carlos followed suit, chewing on a strawberry.

"Oh. Is it very hard?" the girl asked. Carlos recognized her as one of the kids who'd taken the summer reading program and leaned forward, cutting Cecil off before he could speak.

"For you? Probably not that hard after facing off against the librarians. I'd suggest taking voice classes if you can. It can be very stressful on the vocal cords to talk so much if you don't train them, sort of like training your leg muscles to run or your arms to propel you through water," he explained, offering the girl a strawberry. She stared at him, wide-eyed, before turning as red as the fruit and running off. Carlos gave Cecil a slightly bewildered look.

"Why are you so good with children, Carlos?" Cecil whined, dramatically leaning against the smaller man. The shade from the trees was negligible as they had suddenly sprouted metal leaves the day before and the light glinted off of them, peppering the shadows with dots of burning light. One of these spots reflected off of Cecil's glasses until he moved, uncomfortable.

Carlos laughed and took a bite of the last strawberry before popping it into Cecil's mouth. "I probably have more experience with them than you do, Mr. What-do-I-do-with-this-child," he teased. Cecil harrumphed around the strawberry the best he could, chewing up the fruit and leaves. Carlos still hadn't gotten used to the fact that he would eat every part of a fruit – seeds, flesh, and outside. The first time he ate a plum seed Carlos thought he would choke.

"Well, the City Council doesn't take them back and they don't really go anywhere half the time, just sit there and stare at you with their eyes, if they have any, or wander around the station." Cecil sat up again, checking for himself that the fruit was all gone before grabbing his water bottle. "What do you even do with children?" he grumbled a bit, relaxing when Carlos draped his arm over Cecil's shoulders.

"Mostly you get angry at them, if my parents are any example," Carlos said idly, watching a three legged dog chase a ball down and take it back to his masters. "Funny, I would have pegged you for someone who liked kids Ceece."

"I do like them! I just don't know what to do with them." Cecil's insistence was funny to Carlos, who started to laugh. "What is it? What did I say now?"

"You are just…absolutely full of surprises. I love that about you." Carlos pulled away, struggling to breathe between the binder and his laughter. He was secretly glad he wore a shirt under the binder today; it kept the whole thing from getting overly rank with sweat.

Cecil watched him, probably anxiously as he had no idea what to do without possibly drawing unwanted attention their way, but it was hard to tell because he was grinning, always so happy to receive a compliment from his Carlos. "Do we need to leave?" he asked, but he was still smiling so widely that his Valley Girl voice was impossible not to hear.

Carlos held his breath a moment, waiting until his lungs were aching before experimentally letting in a mouthful of air. His chest ached a bit from how tightly he had bound himself this morning but he found himself capable of breathing again at least. "I'm fine Cecil, see?" His heart was racing from the momentary panic that came with not breathing but other than that he was pretty good. "I probably shouldn't have bound myself quite so tightly," he added in a much lower voice, leaning against Cecil after he pulled off his coat. Cecil wrapped his arms tight around him, one hand pressing against his back where he could pretty easily feel the binder. Carlos shifted, making his hand drop.

"Maybe we should go to the bathroom and loosen it a bit or something?" Cecil suggested, smile fading a bit at Carlos's reaction. Today apparently wasn't that good of a day, not if Carlos was pulling away from touch he had been welcoming a week ago.

"No, no, I'm okay, I promise. Stop worrying so much Ceece." Carlos felt his heart jump at the suggestion. No, today was certainly not a good day. He'd woken up alone and made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror after showering. Not only was his hair getting long enough to pull into a ponytail, but seeing his breasts, small as they were and strange looking against his more masculine physique had pushed him into wearing his tightest binder (bought shortly before moving to Night Vale) and loosest clothing. And now Cecil's touch brought too many physical sensations and emotions to the table; Carlos could feel his mind short out from the mixture of desire and repulsion he was feeling.

"Did I do something?" Cecil asked, keeping his voice down and turning his back from the majority of the other park-goers. He let Carlos direct his hands where they needed to be for a hug, squeezing as tight as he could.

Carlos just shook his head, taking comfort that Cecil cared enough to ask. He pressed his face against the faux silk tunic Cecil was wearing, taking the time to relax. "I'm just having a bad day. I…looked in the mirror this morning."

"Oh." Cecil didn't quite understand. He knew Carlos kept the blanket over the mirror, even after their reflections had started behaving again and stopped leaving the mirrorworld to eat them and their goldfish. But while he knew that, and he knew Carlos wasn't fond of his body, he still couldn't understand why Carlos could so easily slip into one of his moods. Of course, he never told Carlos this, trying to understand with what Carlos would tell him (which was a lot, but Carlos had to detach himself to discuss certain things and sometimes the clinical tone made a lot of what Carlos said lose it's meaning), but his inability to understand could heard in how he spoke so simply and the occasionally wandering hands that Carlos would slap at.

"It's not just 'oh' Cecil. If it wasn't for this body we could've…" Carlos was whispering so that no one but Cecil and the Sherriff's Secret Police could hear, but the thought of discussing sex in public, around children, on such a bright happy day when Cecil was healthy and still in love with him, that thought made his stomach clench more tightly together. He found himself wishing he hadn't eaten nearly half of the box of strawberries and wondering if he did throw up, would it be tinged pink from the fruit?

Why did he always start thinking about other things in the middle of something distressing and important?

"I'm okay with waiting," Cecil said immediately, almost a chant in its own right, almost void of emotion. "Besides, we've been…exploring, haven't we?"

Carlos pulled away, to Cecil's disappointment, looking down at his feet. "I just, I think I've hit my limit Ceece. I can't even look at myself in the mirror without wanting to hack off excess…things so how can I ever hope to be comfortable enough with myself to be with you more intimately?" His leg was going numb, so he shifted slightly to try and get the blood flowing again.

"But…do you have to be comfortable with yourself first before we…I mean, couldn't we maybe…if I accepted you, wouldn't that be enough for you?" Cecil was obviously having trouble with wording and the result was a garbled mess of words that made Carlos stare at him with wide eyes. And Cecil seemed to know what he'd just said was horribly wrong because he started backtracking, holding up his hands in a frantic gesture to wait. "That came out wrong. I mean, I don't know, I just–"

Carlos was tense, and even careful breathing and focusing on a single muscle wouldn't help. "I thought I'd explained how I don't want to be dependent on someone's opinion of me," he started quietly.

"You did! I know you did, just it came out wrong what I meant was…" Cecil interrupted and trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"I know that I don't make a lot of sense Cecil, but that's because well, it's not even Night Vale this time. You're happy with how your body was born, you're 'cisgendered'. And I'm happy for you, but you'll never quite understand what it's like…being like this." He looked down, tugging on his shirt uncomfortably before giving up and grabbing the lab coat. His leg was still numb but he could stand, picking up the basket he had packed for their date.

Cecil stood too, bouncing up and trying to stop Carlos with a hand on his shoulder, ignoring his flinch. "Carlos, please. I'm doing the best I can."

Carlos shrugged off the hand, feeling bad that he was hurting Cecil, feeling worse that maybe the other man was starting to get impatient with him and what if he was thinking of breaking up with him? On top of that, the shirt under the binder was beginning to rub uncomfortably against his back and was soaked through with sweat and he just couldn't handle any touch, any intimacy, not after what Cecil had just said. "I know you are but…I just can't today." When Cecil tried to step forward for a hug, he pushed him away. "I'm sorry Ceece, I really am, but please. I need to calm down and arguing with you isn't going to help any. Just let me go."

"I'm sorry Carlos," Cecil said weakly, stepping back so he could fold the blanket and put it in the basket along with their plates. "I love you. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know." Carlos sighed. And that was part of the problem. Cecil just didn't get it and well, he was only human. Of course he'd get impatient eventually. And Carlos wasn't ready to deal with that impatience, not when he'd been more worried about Cecil's body and health until this morning. He reluctantly met Cecil's eyes, giving him a small smile. Cecil was terrible at hiding his emotions and he was obviously distraught. "I'll call you later okay?"

"Okay." Cecil watched Carlos hobble off, impaired as he was by his still numb leg.


	8. Tipping Point

He was glad for once that cars were isolating. He was usually quite good at keeping his composure, especially in an emergency, but he could feel his façade breaking down now. Like this, he didn't have to talk to the passersby on the sidewalk and pretend everything was fine, not like Cecil, who lived close enough to the park anyway that Carlos didn't feel too guilty about leaving him behind. His apartment on the other hand was across town, and he saw too many people on the way there that would've made him stop.

The AC in the apartment made a welcome contrast to the harsh heat outside. Carlos kept his senses long enough to bring in the basket and start the dishwasher, the ache in his chest building even as he did his best to ignore it. He walked around the apartment, shutting the blinds in each room until everything was cast into shadows. As he walked into his bedroom, he stripped, peeling off his t-shirt and struggling out of the binder, throwing it on the bed and breathing hard. It was such an awful relief to be able to breathe properly again. He fanned out the sweat-soaked undershirt before pulling it off as well.

He had to check. Small sparks of pain shot through his ribs whenever he took a proper breath; he had to make sure there were no signs that he had hurt himself. He should've known better than to jump right back into the tight binder, not when he'd been too busy to wear more than a sports bra and baggier than normal shirts to hide his figure. He turned to the bathroom, dread bubbling up in the pit of his stomach.

The bathroom was too dark to see without the light, and its brightness was blinding after the dimness of the rest of the house. The blanket was looking rather pathetic, hiding the medicine cabinet as it was. He hesitated before pulling it down, reminding himself to look at it clinically, don't focus on the shape or form, just look for bruises or obvious sore spots –

He stared blankly at the mirror for a minute, not taking in the shape of his jaw or that really his breasts looked pretty unnatural considering the rest of him managed to become fairly angular over several years of hormone therapy.

All he could really see was himself from twenty years ago, before he started the treatments. He shook his head quickly, trying to drive the images away, and felt his hair brush against the nape of his neck, and then he freaked. He pushed away from the sink and the awful tricks the mirror was playing, took a few long steps to his desk and jerked open the drawer. His scissors were blunt tipped and dull from constant use, but they still cut through the dark curls without too much catching. His vision was blurry, but it wasn't until he wiped his face free of stray hair that he realized he'd been crying or that his hands were shaking. And did he nick his ear? It felt like it was bleeding. There was blood on his hand. He touched it just to make sure. It was bleeding.

Not wanting to push himself after the incident with his binder, he pulled on an old sweatshirt and swept up the hair. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror again, so he sort of just groped the wall until he could feel the light switch and flicked it down. His laptop was already out on the desk, but he moved it to the bed, tossing the dirty clothes away before wrapping up in a blanket and pulling up a new tab.

He clicked on his email first, pushing all the thoughts in his mind out to focus on replying to business first. His phone rang, Cecil's ringtone, but he ignored it and the lump in his throat that grew from hearing the screeching noise (Cecil had programmed khoshekh's meow himself. Carlos should stop letting him near his phone). Unfortunately, his email was empty for the moment and that didn't push the panic away. He typed in "Night Vale" instead, scrolling through the links he'd already clicked on to see if there was anything new. Just a small blurb about the new Pinkberry. He opened a bookmarked page instead.

If anyone ever asked about it, he would probably explain that humans for centuries had been using pain to distract from other pain, and really, how was what he did any different from getting someone to kick him in the shin? It was a very poor lie, and he knew it; that is why he refused to let anyone onto his laptop.

Carlos said a quick, silent prayer for forgiveness and started scrolling through the pictures of men, nude, some posing, some asleep or bound or both, but all of them obviously, wholly, men.

As he scrolled through the pictures, he found himself, wishing, as usual, that he could look like that, that his body had matched his mind. He found himself growing jealous, not just of the men on the screen who were most likely photoshopped to look that perfect (that perfect that Cecil still sometimes insisted he was when he so obviously wasn't) but of real people that he knew. His colleagues in the lab, even Trish for being so comfortable in her skin, Steve Carlsburg, the hooded figures whose gender identity would never become a question, and yes, even Cecil.

This jealousy had the undesirable effect of making his self-loathing bubble up further, and he pushed the laptop away, pressing his face into a pillow. God, he was such an awful person. How did anyone deal with him? Why did Cecil put up with his moods, especially after he had nearly died on one of Carlos's whims? He was so ugly, inside and out, an ugly bag of bones to match the bitterness inside.

The throbbing in his ear and behind his eyes told him he had fallen asleep at some point, and when he lifted his head, he wasn't surprised to find his pillow soaked with tears. He sat up, wiping at his eyes furiously. Why did he always have to be such a child about this? He knew he was awful and undeserving of the kindness the people of Night Vale had shown him; he was a liar to most and asked too much of Cecil. He really ought to hijack Cecil's radio show for a few minutes one night and tell everyone the truth so they'd stop looking at him through Cecil's rose-colored glasses.

Actually, first he should get a drink of water for the throbbing in his head.

As he got up, he nearly stepped on his cellphone, just barely jerking his foot up enough to keep from crushing it and falling against the wall instead. Now instead of just his ear and eyes throbbing, his entire head and his butt were equally sore. The blinding red flash of the dying battery was insistent, and Carlos scooped the offending contraption up, realizing now that it was dark outside and thus nearly pitch black inside his bedroom. When he stood he thought he heard the front door shut but tried to shrug it off as merely the faceless old woman getting bored since he had fallen asleep on his laptop.

Thinking about Cecil made the guilt bubble up again, so he just plugged his phone in and set the phone screen down to keep from seeing any messages he had.

Lucky for him the tap water was running clear today and wasn't clogged up with peach lemonade or something. He downed a couple of glasses, nearly choking when there was a knock on his door. There was never a knock on his door.

"Doctor Ricardo, we came to check on your well-being on the behalf of Cecil Baldwin."

"What?" Carlos was having to blink at the light from the street lamp a few feet from his door. It did a good job at casting the police officer's face in shadow so Carlos couldn't tell what exactly he looked like, just that he towered over the short man.

"Cecil Baldwin called saying that you left in a state of distress, and he has since attempted to call you three times. Not hearing from you, he proceeded to call us to make sure you were okay, but our cameras were impaired due to the darkness of your apartment."

"Oh." He felt uneasy, not certain what the rules were when a member of the Secret Police showed up at your front door. "Well, I'm obviously okay. I'll call him later."

"Thank you very much sir." The man disappeared in a blink of the eye, and Carlos looked about a bit, disconcerted before reentering his home and locking the door firmly.

Should he be angry or not that Cecil was that worried about him? It mostly just hurt. He pressed his forehead against the door, not sure what to think. He'd been so focused on Cecil, on making sure he was okay, on trying to do some investigating into why Cecil had gotten so sick leaving Night Vale, that he had slipped in taking care of himself. And of course now he was paying for it.

"I'm supposed to be self-reliant!" He hit the door with the flat of his hands, turning around on his heels and to the mirror again. His vision was blurry again; he wiped at his eyes viciously, glaring at his reflection. His hair was pretty pathetic now, patchy and wisps just barely attached. He would need to find Telly and hope to find him on a sane day or just shave it all off.

He tugged at some of the looser bits, letting it drop in the sink and washing his face. Self-reliant. That was what he had told Cecil in the very beginning. And that was supposed to be true. He couldn't, just couldn't depend on someone else for his happiness.

His phone was a bit charged when he finally bothered to check it, and he saw that he had five messages now – two voicemails, an email, and two texts. He ignored the texts and email, listening to the voicemails and nursing his toe from stubbing it against the nightstand. He really ought to turn on a light.

"Carlos? I know you said you'd call tonight, but I wanted to tell you that I'm…I'm really sorry. I know you've been stressed, so pressing you about sex, like, that was really bad on my part. But please call me because I'm worried about you."

"I got the message from the Secret Police, and I'm glad you're okay. Please be okay." There was a moment of silence and then a familiar yowl before the message ended. Cecil was in the radio station? Well, the bathroom, but of all the places he could be…well it made sense. Cecil's safe place must be there.

Carlos dialed a different number, curling up on the bed to wrap his arm around his knees. The ringing was distant, a bit scratchy, but at least it was ringing.

"Hallo?" The accent was too thick, voice too low to be George.

"Hi Miguel. Can I talk to my brother? It's Carlos." He heard the sleepy affirmative and some mumbling, too faint to be understood. There was a crackling noise and then the sound cleared.

"Carlos? Is it really you or am I still dreaming?"

The smile in George's voice was such a relief. Carlos laughed despite himself. "No, it's not a dream my brother. I wanted to try and call you and Anna. I miss you guys."

"Calling a bit late though, aren't you?" Carlos heard the tease in his voice but it didn't bother him. Talking to George was such a weight off of his shoulders already. If anyone could understand him, it was the eldest Ricardo son.

"I know, I'm sorry. Miguel sounded half asleep when he answered. Are you two doing okay? How is the Air Force treating you?"

"We're all right, it's just the same old story. I've become a trainer myself. Bit boring, but it's also fun being on the other side of that desk, you know? Oh, and we went to see Miguel's parents the other day. Papa called and said that he had to get surgery on his leg and if it could be nearby in case he needed a transfusion. I guess my blood isn't so tainted that he won't think twice in using it if it's between that or dying." A moment of silence as George breathed. Carlos wasn't sure what to say, didn't know that there had been something wrong with Papa's leg, so he remained silent. "Carlos, my genius of a brother doesn't usually call in the middle of the night just for the heck of it. What's wrong?"

"Maybe I just wanted to talk but my phone refused to work until just now? You know Night Vale is a strange place," Carlos said, warming up into his usual excuses, but George stopped him.

"Carlos. You're my little brother. Stop trying to hide it. I can tell you aren't feeling well. You sound like you've been crying. So what's happened? Does this have to do with that man on the radio, what's his name, Cecil?"

"I…" Carlos went quiet, unsure of himself. He fiddled with a fold on his jeans, trying to think of how to word it.

"You're withdrawing again, aren't you?" George's voice was quiet but firm. Carlos could all but see him sitting up in bed with Miguel, okay, gross, no, he didn't need to imagine his big brother naked. Especially not now. "Carlos, come on, you know that you can't keep harping on 'self-reliance' and try and always keep a happy face when you're in a relationship. That's not the point of them, unless you're in a movie, and let's face it, you're not."

"I don't know, I've got the tragic backstory down pretty well," Carlos replied a bit dryly. George laughed.

"Papa and Mama still don't know what to make of you, but that's okay. What's important Carlos is that –"

"I accept myself, I know," Carlos interrupted, voice hardening. "I'm trying George, but it's just so hard sometimes."

"I know little bro, I know. But that's not what I was going to say. Yes, accepting yourself is very important but it's not the only thing you need to be happy. You also need someone who will accept you for you, good days and bad."

"But George, I'm…scared." He sounded like such a child, he realized as his voice actually cracked. He rubbed his throat. "Cecil says he loves me and he says he accepts me, but…what if I'm not enough? What if he's okay with exploring while I'm dressed but when I…you know…ugh. George, what if he leaves me like Michal or Andrea or Jintae?" He had left Adam after the first night, not vice versa. The words the man said had hurt too much.

"Carlos, you're putting too much stock into past experience." George was used to this, having helped Carlos weather through many of his past relationships. "You've been hurt so much in the past, so of course you're wary. Have you even told Cecil the truth about your body?"

"Yes."

"And you're still together, so that's good. I'm guessing you are having a bad day?" He paused for another barely-spoken reply before continuing. "And you freaked out and pushed Cecil away, didn't you?"

"He asked me why I couldn't let him accept me and maybe that could help me accept myself," Carlos explained, closing his eyes. "But George, I don't want to be dependent on Cecil's opinion of me to feel good about myself. I can't put my faith in one person. What if he leaves me later?"

George was quiet, though the static in the line did worsen, hurting Carlos's ears. He pulled the phone away a bit until his brother started talking again. "I think it's my fault that you're like this Carlos, and I'm sorry. When I told you that no one's opinion about your body mattered except your own, I guess I didn't realize how much you hate the fact you were born female."

"It's not your fau -"

"No Carlos, it is. I was your shield at home from our parents and I still want you to come to me when you're hurting, but I gave you crappy advice and now you've holed yourself up again and are afraid to let anyone else near." George's voice faded out as he said something to Miguel. "Now, Carlos, little brother, I want you to listen up and listen close. Got your ears open?"

"Yeah?"

"It's important for you to accept yourself without needing someone's opinions of your body to build up the entire foundation for that acceptance. But, and this is a big but, you need to let people near you and see how they react to what you feel are your biggest problems. You may be making a mountain out of a molehill, and someone accepting you with all your flaws might be enough to get over that hurdle to accepting yourself." George went quiet, giving him a moment to let that sink in. "Miguel met me when I was dating Beth. I was trying to be straight for Mama because she was recovering from the tumor and having trouble with her recollection, remember? I was trying so hard to be perfect for someone that I was miserable inside."

"I remember. I was finishing grad school," Carlos said a bit numbly. "You met Miguel at a bar and threw up all over him, right?"

A small laugh. "Right. I was becoming an alcoholic to escape the stress. And Miguel didn't care. He took me to his apartment, cleaned me up, and let me sleep off the booze. I guess I was lucky; Miguel met me at my lowest point and we built each other up. Now, Erwin – "

"Cecil.'

"Right. Now Cecil didn't meet you after you threw up on him, but you're not giving him a chance to let him let you do so, er, metaphorically. I mean, you're not giving him a real chance to see Carlos Ricardo in full, mistakes, temper, and all. And I know it's hard to trust again after so much pain, but that's part of being in a relationship." He sighed. "I know I sound like I'm berating you, but I'm just worried that you're never going to be happy. How did Cecil react to your being transgender?"

"He said that…he didn't mind it. He was happy I told him actually." Carlos remembered the conversation clearly. "He said I don't have to be perfect to be perfect to him."

"Well that sounds hopeful. Carlos, I think you should trust him. And if he turns out to be a jerk, well, you can blame me for getting your hopes up."

"But I do trust him," Carlos argued. "I just am no good for him. He'd be better off without me."

"How about you let Cecil decide that for himself. He's a grown man after all; he can make his own mistakes. And if he's deciding he wants to make his mistakes with you, well, why don't you give him a chance to see what it's like?"

Carlos was feeling a bit relieved, even as he felt his nervousness mount. "What if I call and he's angry with me?" he asked.

"You're a big boy Carlos, you can decide for yourself if his anger is worth working through or not. I'm not going to make all your decisions for you, especially when I need to be up at oh four hundred hours to run with the trainees."

"Oh, I'm sorry George, I didn't mean to keep you up when you have work in the morning. I'll…email you later okay?"

George laughed. "Anything for you Carlos. Just remember to actually contact me once in awhile. I miss you in that teeny tiny town."

"I know. I miss you too."

"And who knows. You've said yourself that Night Vale is weird. Maybe that weirdness rubbed off on Cecil and he's more accepting than you think."

"Right maybe." He said the usual pleasantries before hanging up. He was drowsy from crying so much and it was late, too late to drag Cecil out of wherever he was to talk and either of them make any sense. So he laid down, still clothed, sending Cecil a quick text.

::Come over for breakfast. I love you.::

He'd fallen asleep before he got the reply.


	9. Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

Cecil arrived while Carlos was still getting dressed, fidgeting on the small porch until Carlos actually let him in. It was obvious the taller man hadn't slept well but seeing the state of Carlos's haphazardly cut hair seemed to reenergize him.

"Carlos! Did your scissors become sentient and attack you? What happened to your hair?" he exclaimed, hands fluttering up to touch a stubbornly curly lock that swept across Carlos's forehead. He dropped his hands before he could touch Carlos though, wary of any form of touch.

"No, I cut it," he said quietly, backing up. "Come on, let's have breakfast and talk." He was back in control for the most part, though he was thankful that Cecil didn't push his limits just yet. Cecil followed behind him, leaving his coat and shoes by the door as Carlos dished up some bacon and eggs. They sat and started eating in a tense silence, both men not quite able to meet each other's eyes.

"I'm sorry for not calling last night. I fell asleep, and then talked to my brother," Carlos finally said, coughing slightly.

"It's okay, I heard from the Sherriff's Secret Police that you were okay, though they didn't tell me about your…hair." Cecil motioned with a piece of bacon, shifting uncomfortably.

Carlos gave a weak smile. "If you hadn't inadvertently driven the only barber in town insane, I might not have gone to such extreme measures." Cecil looked horrified, so Carlos sighed and shifted his chair to sit closer. "You can touch it if you need to."

Cecil touched his hair lightly, tracing the shorter strands with an anxious look. "Why did you cut it? I love your hair."

Carlos closed his eyes, breathing slowly and through his nose. "I, um, I kept seeing myself as a woman honestly. It was too long."

"Oh." Cecil's hands dropped, fidgeting with his shirt. "I'm sorry. It's my fault that you let it grow out, right?"

Carlos shrugged, shoving his chair back to its proper place and finishing his eggs. "You could help me fix it later, if you'd like. I'll probably just shave it off."

"I would." The silence prevailed again, and Carlos stood to do the dishes, not surprised when Cecil stood to help. There was small conversation as they cleaned up, but Carlos could feel the gulf between them. It only made him feel nervous as he led Cecil to his threadbare couch, sitting so there was a square of space between them, hands folded in his lap.

"Cecil? I overreacted yesterday," he started quietly.

"No you didn't. I reacted really stupidly. After what you've been doing for me, I really shouldn't have pushed it." Cecil leaned forward a bit, catching Carlos's eye and giving him an exhausted, apologetic smile. "I was so scared that you were never going to speak to me again. I was relieved to get that text from you to come today. You don't hate me, do you?"

Carlos stared at him for a moment before sighing. "It's really hard to hate you when you're giving me those puppy dog eyes," he half mumbled, really speaking to himself.

"What? Did I forget to bring something?" Cecil asked, straightening again as he started looking about like he'd get a hint in the air. Carlos laughed, pulling Cecil down for a hug. "Is this a no?" he asked more softly, carefully wrapping his arms around Carlos's lower back, burying his face against his shoulder.

"It's a no," Carlos assured him, squeezing Cecil as he felt the other man start shaking. Was he crying?

"I'm really sorry. I'm so stupid Carlos. I keep messing up, don't I?" Cecil tried to hide in Carlos's shirt, but the scientist pulled away, cupping Cecil's cheeks, fingers curling around his jaw to keep him from trying to hide.

"Cecil, I think the first thing we have to realize as a couple is that we're both human." Arguably questionable some days, but they were definitely both human today. "Which means we aren't perfect, right?"

"Right?" Cecil blinked and attempted at wiping his eyes, pressing a hand against one of Carlos's and peeling it away to hold instead. He fidgeted with Carlos's hand before the shorter man sighed and pressed both hands against Cecil's.

"Okay, so we're not perfect. You're not, and I'm not, so…mistakes happen. We won't always be happy with each other. We're allowed to have our moments." He swallowed nervously, wishing he could hide. George's words, vague as they were after a night's sleep, reminded him that really, he needed to do this. "Cecil, I just. I'm struggling, okay? The last man I dated expressed such disgust with my body one night when he'd gotten drunk that I shut down for years. About five, if I'm remembering correctly."

Carlos had to stop, swallowing. It was Cecil's turn to hug him, holding him close and gently rubbing his arm in what was meant to be a soothing gesture, but irritated Carlos enough to make him stop. "Sorry." Cecil shifted, letting Carlos settle more naturally against him.

"It's okay. I'm just, well, struggling again." He laughed at the irony but sat up, leaning against the couch instead. "I don't think I've actually trusted someone in long time. And it's kind of terrifying." He glanced at Cecil, but the radio broadcaster didn't seem able to come up with a coherent reply as he opened his mouth once or twice before helplessly shrugging.

"I think I'm going to hold back what I think until you're done, if that's okay," he finally said when Carlos showed no signs of going on.

"Right, sorry. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do." He laughed again, hiding his face. Why on earth did he want to cry. "What am I supposed to do?"

Cecil carefully slid over to Carlos's side, wrapping one arm loosely over his shoulders. "Does anybody really know what to do though? We're hurtling through space on a giant hunk of rock with billions of other people who are probably just as clueless as us on what to do."

"Cecil." Carlos elbowed him slightly. "This is not your radio show. You don't have to speak so grandly."

"Sorry, I think I'm just too used to it." Cecil smiled as Carlos laughed again, happy that he didn't look like he was ready to cry again.

Carlos leaned against Cecil, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt as he tried to think. "I want to, I want to try Cecil. Not like I've been before. I don't want to pretend that I've got it all together when I'm really just a mess." He made a surprised noise when Cecil squeezed him.

"I'd like that. I expect I'll mess up a lot more too, if you can be patient," Cecil said softly.

Carlos shifted, pressing his face into Cecil's shirt and taking a few short breaths. He could do it. He would do it. It was so much working playing pretend and the crash hurt so much worse after all the effort. "I want to trust somebody again. I'm sorry I'm such a coward."

"I'm a coward too, so it's okay." Cecil felt relieved that Carlos seemed to be okay now. Not normal, at all, but better than before. He brushed his fingers through the roughly cut locks, frowning to himself. Carlos gave himself a few more minutes before sitting up.

"Let's fix my hair so I don't look completely ridiculous at work tomorrow." He stood, offering a hand to Cecil.

"Your beautiful hair," Cecil whined, even as he took Carlos's hand. Carlos merely shook his head, leading Cecil into the small bathroom so they could see what was to be done and make plans for the rest of the day.


	10. Re-education

"Cecil, you don't put that much cornstarch in the mixture." Carlos stopped watching his centrifuge spinning when he saw Cecil trying to add another cup to the plastic baggie. Cecil had been bored while Carlos finished up for the day, so Trish had set him up to make oobleck while he waited. Problem was, he wasn't entirely certain Cecil understood the point of what he was doing.

"You don't? Why not?" He stopped as Carlos moved to help, leaning over Cecil to double check his measurements.

Carlos sealed the baggie shut, giving it to Cecil to squish together. "It'll be proper oobleck in about ten minutes if you keep squeezing. Too much cornstarch or water and the suspension won't work."

"Oh, okay." Carlos watched him for a couple of minutes before he went back to the centrifuge, pulling out each test tube and recording the changes. He glanced at Cecil, focused as he was on the baggie.

It had been a few days since they had their fight and make up, and things were quicker to settle back into a routine than before, except…

Cecil had been reeducated a couple hours ago, right in the middle of programming. Carlos had gone to pick him up after the broadcast and been redirected to city hall, where a dazed Cecil clung to him even inside the car. He still had that dazed look about him, though he smiled and reacted with only a slight delay.

"Carlos, is it done yet?" Cecil held up the baggie, staring at the off white liquid with narrowed eyes.

Carlos looked up as he marked the next test tube to look at, nodding slightly. "Open up the baggie and try to pull it out. You'll have to be quick though, or it'll get slippery and come out of your hand." He laughed when Cecil tried to follow his instructions, his eyes getting wide as the goop turned into liquid around his fingers and dripped onto the counter. "I told you it was cool."

"Why can't I pick it up!" Cecil kept playing with the oobleck while Carlos finished up, setting the test tubes in a holder and into the fridge. He swept up the lab, making sure there was toilet paper in the bathroom and the coffee maker was set to make a fresh pot in the morning, generally tidying up and waiting a bit before they picked up a pie at Big Rico's and headed to Cecil's apartment for the evening.

"Come on Cecil. We'll make some more oobleck in a little bit. So let's clean this up." He helped him clean up the mess, putting the majority in the baggie again. "Are you ready for dinner?"

"I'm not very hungry," he said softly, leaning against Carlos heavily.

"Cecil, no, don't lean against me. We got to go." And he wasn't quite ready for that much intimacy while wearing not much more than a sports bra. Cecil groaned and stretched, standing. Carlos handed him the baggie, leading him to the car. No point in locking up. There weren't any experiments that could escape. Well, unless the grime he'd brought in suddenly became sentient again.

"Can we not get food? I'm tired." Cecil pulled away to climb into the car, slumping in the seat without bothering to buckle up. Carlos didn't complain, but he did drive past Big Rico's, going straight to the apartment.

"You'll let me borrow your laptop, right? I want to check my email."

"Yeah." Cecil grinned as Carlos led the way inside, watching him slip inside with all the knowledge and comfort of someone used to what was behind the door. The toilet and shower had a more solid false wall for Carlos to change behind, a black bag of his things haphazardly tucked under the bed.

"You lay down. I'll get you something to drink at least and get you comfortable. Cecil! That tickles!" Cecil had grabbed his head and started tracing the bumps visible without the long hair hiding them. Cecil just grinned and kissed the top of his peach fuzz, making Carlos flush. "Are you sure you're not feeling well? Because you're acting plenty normal to me."

"Oh no, I'm ill; take care of me Carlos. I'll die without your love." He draped himself over Carlos, making the shorter man stagger before giving up and flopping on the bed with Cecil on top.

He wriggled free after a couple of minutes of struggling. Cecil is surprisingly heavy when he wants to be. Not all the time. His weight changes. It was like the observer effect in physics, always changing due to being observed. Once he was free, he glanced at Cecil, not terribly surprised that the man had fallen asleep. "You're such a dork," Carlos said with a sigh, rubbing his own stubbly head (it felt like five o'clock shadow) before he started to unlace Cecil's shoes, slipping them off and dragging Cecil into his spot on the bed.

Hungry, he made himself a sandwich on gluten-free bread, opening a can of fruit before he changed and grabbed Cecil's laptop, settling next to the other man with food and technology.

The history on his internet browser was pulled up, and Carlos stopped, curious what Cecil could've been looking at. Besides, it was fair game, even if Cecil was in some sort of shock currently.

There were the usual wolves searches from Cecil's faceless old lady, some dinner plans, and…" He blinked, his brain scrambling the letters in his surprise. He clicked the link, noting right before he did that Cecil apparently had an online bank account too.

'Bilateral Mastectomy - also called a "double incision" or "incision" method…better overall contour…Southwest Calirfornia…'

Carlos only picked up on a few key terms because he recognized the webpage; he visited the site enough times himself when he had been feeling particularly down. Cecil murmured in his sleep beside him, twisting so he could wrap his arms around the shorter man. Carlos let him, still scanning over the text and looking through Cecil's history. There was a Beverly Hills surgeon, and yahoo! mail had been pulled up – what was Cecil planning?

Carlos tabbed out of everything, checking his email instead, feeling a bit freaked out by Cecil's research. There were a couple emails he hadn't bothered looking at yet, one long one from George discussing a move to Colorado, Papa, and, well, top surgeries (the very thing Cecil had apparently been looking into); an email from NYU that he had skimmed long enough to learn he hadn't lost his grant prematurely but was too long to warrant much more than that at the lab; and an email from an old college buddy. He clicked on the last first. It was fairly short and pretty disappointing actually.

'It's good to hear from you Carlos, and no, this isn't too much of a favor to ask at all. A tad shady but the information is about the same if you had paid a PI to do it, except a lot less expensive. This guy you named, Cecil Baldwin? I can't find much on him, just an old birth certificate with the guy's name and birthdate. February 30, 1908. Sure this isn't some sort of fake? There's no other records of him existing. Hell, the only real records of Night Vale are mostly weird newspaper articles and a fistful of birth certificates like this one. Is there any reason they're all purple?'

Of course it was too much to ask that something be normal when it came to Cecil. He snapped the laptop shut, not wanting to deal with anymore surprises from the mundane world. He had to pull free of Cecil's grip to put the laptop up, finishing his dinner and setting the plate aside quickly.

"Carlos?"

Cecil was awake. Carlos froze for an instant, rather like a cat, before turning around, trying to smile. "Hey Ceece. I'm just cleaning up. How are you feeling?"

"My fingers and toes are tingly," he replied. Carlos rinsed everything off and climbed into bed as Cecil wriggled his limbs experimentally. "My head is all foggy too." He clung to Carlos, burying his face in the man's stomach.

Carlos squirmed, trying to get comfortable, stroking Cecil's hair. One of these days maybe they'd have a normal date again, with no storming off and no reeducation. For now though, they'd have to persevere. "Cecil, I've never asked. When is your birthday?" He kept his tone light, like the thought had just come to him.

"I think it's in February? I can't remember Carlos, I'm sorry. I'm too fuzzy in the head to be much use right now." He thought he saw the tattoo peeking over Cecil's shirt twist a bit but when he blinked it was back to normal.

"It's all right. Just want to hear you talk," he half lied, sliding down a bit so Cecil's glasses were pressing uncomfortably against his collarbone. He took them away, still playing with Cecil's hair. "When did you start wearing glasses?" He tried them on and squinted; Cecil's prescription was far stronger than the ones he wore to read.

"When I was little. Mother used to say they're just as bad as mirrors but I've been alive this long, so I'm not too worried about it." Cecil smiled, a bit sadly, pressing his nose into Carlos's shirt.

"I'm sorry. I know you miss her." Carlos felt bad for bringing up bittersweet memories for his boyfriend, but he was curious all the same. "How did she die?"

"Ah, that was a night to remember. I had just started working for the radio, or was it a newspaper then? The City Council sent us a warning about the sandstorm that was coming, but she insisted on trying to cover her cacti at the last minute, and I couldn't leave. I had my duty to report to the people of Night Vale and make sure they were safe. She got caught in the storm and…well, she disappeared. It was a few years before we found her again, perfectly preserved, where the Dog Park is now."

"I'm sorry," Carlos repeated, not entirely certain what to think of that. If it wasn't for Cecil's lack of flowery detail he could have sworn it was almost like listening to Cecil describing some other, perfectly normal for Night Vale but freakish for everywhere else, event.

"It's okay. We burned her at the stake as she had asked to prevent her corpse from growing sentient and destroying Night Vale. Just in time too; she had started moving her fingers when we got the wood piled just so." Cecil lifted a hand, twisting it in the air a bit to show just how the pyre had been built. "It was lovely. Several hooded figures came to pay their respects."

"I'm sure it was. So they had funeral pyres for common people as well?" He knew nowadays they tended to save that for very important people. Because he had to fill out three different documents that told him he was able to have a fiery grave because of his relationship to Cecil as well as the fact that he was 'one of the more notable outsiders that have arrived in Night Vale, mostly because you're still alive'. There were, mixed, feelings about that in the lab.

"She wasn't common!" Cecil's voice turned sharp, making Carlos wince. What a stupid thing to say. Cecil pulled away from Carlos, rolling so his back was towards the scientist. Carlos sat up, trying to touch his shoulder, not surprised when Cecil jerked away.

"I'm sorry. I'm having a foot in the mouth moment right now, okay?" He tried again, watching Cecil relax and turn slightly. "Of course your mom was special." He massaged Cecil's shoulders lightly, making the broadcaster stretch out into the touch. He did everything but purr.

"All right, you're forgiven." Cecil rolled onto his back, smiling slightly. "Why are you asking about Mother anyway?"

"Just curious. I've not asked you much about your family. And it's a good way for you to make sure your memory isn't fading from reeducation." Carlos stretched out, grunting as his back popped, before he curled into Cecil's side. "Do you mind?"

"I don't. I'm happy. Is there anything else you're wondering about?" He yawned slightly, rolling to hold Carlos more securely.

He would ask about the browser history when Cecil was more awake. Tilting his head back, he kissed Cecil lightly, smiling. "How about when you decided you wanted to work on the radio? What made you the Voice of Night Vale?"

Cecil closed his eyes, and Carlos thought he'd gone back to sleep before he finally started to talk, voice melodic. "I don't really remember when I decided I wanted to work for the radio. Maybe when Mother bought a radio for the kitchen and turned it on? There was something…fascinating about the radio. Kind of like magic."

"I told you that radio waves aren't magic," Carlos grumbled, making Cecil laugh.

"Might as well be. I still don't totally don't understand it." Cecil lifted a hand to brush over Carlos's bristly scalp. "I was a pretty insecure kid. I guess the thought of being a disembodied voice…that appealed to me." He blinked, frowning slightly. "I can't really remember when I got the violet letter to intern at the station though. Or…well, there was an attack on station management when I was interning…I think." He shifted away, sitting up to rub his head and look about, troubled.

Carlos sat up too, watching him warily. Cecil's face smoothed after a few minutes and he smiled. "Cecil, are you okay? Do you remember anything now?"

"Remember what? I'm pretty hungry Carlos. Want to go to Big Rico's? I don't think I went shopping like I wanted to last week." Cecil stood, a bit wobbly-legged, turning when Carlos didn't reply. "Is everything all right?"

Carlos swallowed thickly. "Yeah, let me just change. Been wearing this binder too long." He skirted around the bed and Cecil, hiding behind the divide and taking a deep breath before he started pulling off his shirt to get at the binder. "Cecil, tell me again how you started working at the radio?"

"Oh, I got the letter when I was a Boy Scout. I was pretty happy about it really; I didn't want to go on the hunting trip in the library, even if we had municipally approved librarian spray. Mother was especially happy. She was crying." Cecil's voice was casual, and Carlos peeked out at him as he buttoned up an especially baggy shirt. His face was blank again, and it bothered Carlos enough that, shirt still half undone (showing his belly, not his chest), he went and hugged Cecil tight, pinning the taller man's arms to his sides. "Carlos? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just…wanted to hug you," he whispered, trying to push down his nerves. He felt Cecil wriggle free of his grip to hug him back tightly, fingers tracing over his shoulderblades and down to the safe zone of his mid-back. "I love you."

"I love you too Carlos." He could hear the smile in Cecil's voice but that only raised his feeling of panic. He pulled away, not quite meeting his eyes, already trying to cycle through the different theories of what was going on. All he could land on was the reeducation. How many times had Cecil been reeducated? Was it starting to affect his memory more permanently or was this something else?

Hands on his stomach startled him out of his reverie. "You're thinking again instead of dressing," Cecil chided, buttoning his shirt the rest of the way.

"Right, sorry, let's go." He grabbed their shoes, letting Cecil lead the way out, already planning a trip to the radio station for a little chat with station management.


	11. Station Management

"This is stupid Carlos. Wearing a tie is like wearing a noose. You don't know what they even look like or how they'll react or…ugh! Calm down. Knowing them, they can probably smell fear." Carlos was arguing with himself in the mirror, trying to psych himself up to go into the radio station. He was doing a wonderful job talking himself out of it instead. He tugged off the tie, tossing it on the toilet lid and straightened his lab coat, smoothing his hands over the lapels. He could only just barely admit to himself he was wearing it less so he could be identified as Carlos the Scientist and more as a security blanket.

"Carlos Ricardo, you have to find out what they did to Cecil. Stop being such a damn coward." He glared at himself and sighed. "Of course before I can even ask they'll probably turn me into a spit roast." That image was unnerving. He hurried out of his small bathroom and grabbed the dry erase board and marker he intended to take notes on. It was only slightly illegal after all.

Cecil didn't know about his plans. They had parted when Carlos went into the lab, still shaken by Cecil's sudden lack of memory about something as important as getting the job as the Voice of Night Vale, and Carlos sent a text during his broadcast complaining of feeling sick and needing to rest up before he went out tomorrow to replenish his supply of testosterone. On Cecil's part, he didn't bemoan the loss of his boyfriend's presence for more than about a minute – he really was improving at the whole public versus private life thing. Carlos did miss it though. Not all the time, just sometimes.

Well it certainly hadn't stopped the gushing the first time Carlos said 'I love you.'

Shrugging off the guilt of lying to Cecil, he decided to walk to the radio station. Nothing in Night Vale was really far apart; the town was positively tiny tonight. He'd have to start measuring the town's dimensions. Maybe when it moved from location to location, the shape of Night Vale changed as well. At any rate, he made it to the station on the edge of town in about fifteen minutes, looking about to try and find Cecil's house. It wasn't in sight today. All the better for him.

The radio station was creepier at night than it had been in the day. The air conditioner was off, but it was still cool since it had few ways for air, or people, to escape. Carlos jumped as the door slammed shut behind him, every hair on his body standing on end. A rat in a maze.

If memory served him correctly, Cecil's booth was just down the hall an to the right. He went there first, slipping inside the isolation booth and looking about. There was the day's broadcast, a series of stapled sheets of paper and a few index cards of badly painted notes that were editorials. He nearly ran into the hanging microphone; why had Cecil pulled it out to hang in the middle of the room? He pushed it back so nobody got hurt in the morning, sitting in Cecil's chair and smiling when he saw the bulletin board with the community calendar and a picture of them both posing awkwardly under the Arby's sign. He leaned back and closed his eyes, imagining for a moment that Cecil was here and they were sharing the chair, Cecil's hands in his hair and then in his shirt to remove it; he wasn't wearing a binder either so –

A grumbling noise from down the hall alerted him to the real world again, and he felt a flush of shame that he could still lust after Cecil when he was trying to figure out what had happened to him. What sort of boyfriend was he? He forced himself up, looking down the hall to the darkened door that was Station Management's office. As he watched, a scarlet envelope shot out from under the door, landing neatly a few feet away. Without his reading glasses and in the gloom, he couldn't make out the words on the envelope, but who else could it be for?

His footsteps were incredibly loud against the tiled floor. Reluctant to turn his back to the door where the grumbling was coming from, he squatted, head up and eyes locked on the handle was he groped for the envelope on the floor, grabbing and stepping back quickly. Feeling safer in the doorway of Cecil's booth, he glanced at the envelope and the rather elegant handwriting in indigo ink.

The script was the same on the single sheet of paper inside, though it was of ordinary, printer paper stock. The ink seemed to gleam in the low light, but Carlos had to flick a light on to read it properly.

'Claudia Maria Ricardo, called Carlos. Masters degrees in molecular biology and theoretical physics. Category: outsider, aggravated by relationship to the Voice. Consumes wheat and wheat by-products on a regular basis outside of Night Vale and possesses illegal contraband: pen and notepad in nightstand. What are you doing in our radio station Claudia Carlos Ricardo?'

Carlos felt himself go hot and then cold in quick succession at seeing his birth name written so plainly. He cleared his throat, vaguely remembering how he had to communicate with the entity behind the door. His legs felt locked into place, so he was depending on his throat to work. And for Station Management not to leave their office when he had trapped himself in Cecil's booth.

"H-how…excuse me." He coughed, shocked by just how squeaky his voice was. "How do you know my birth name? Wait no, that's not what I want to know. What have you been doing to Cecil?"

The grumbling grew loud and he heard something thump against the door once or twice. His heart was in his throat, hands shaking so hard he nearly dropped his letter. He shoved it into his coat pocket, partly leaning against and partly hiding behind the doorjamb, watching the door with one eye.

The second envelope slipped through after a few minutes, but Carlos didn't move until the door shook, a loud, hissing noise emanating from behind the door. Frightened that the entity might be trying to escape and find him, he hurried forward, grabbing the envelope, light still on in Cecil's office. The noise died down as he moved and, shaking like a leaf, he pulled the envelope open without regard to the seal, scanning the writing for an answer.

'The Voice knows all and can hide nothing. We ask him and he tells us. Claudia Carlos is a danger. You upset the Voice and take him from Night Vale. You nearly severed the connection. We would have no Voice.'

He stuffed the second letter in the same pocket, swallowing thickly. "I'm…sorry that I did that. But, but he insisted. He wanted to go with me and wouldn't let me take him back. And he's alive, so isn't that all that matters in the end?" He spoke more loudly, trying to force false confidence into his voice. "And you're not answering my question. What have you done to Cecil's memories? What happens when he's put in the box or reeducated? And what did you do to him when you left your office?" Shouting helped him get the words out. He balled his fists at his sides and shouted at the door, ignoring the unease and the soft whistling coming from the door. "And what do you mean you wouldn't have a 'Voice?' What is Cecil to you anyway? He's not your puppet!"

The door rattled, sending Carlos back a couple of steps and reminding him that this was really a foolhardy thing to do, and he really should leave now before he angers whatever lay behind that door to the point of leaving. But another piece of paper, no envelope, was pushed out and he squatted to scoop it up to.

'The Voice is the Voice. Not our puppet, but we need him. Our methods are not to be questioned.'

This was going to be more useless than talking to a hooded figure, wasn't it? He felt a flash of irrational anger. He was a scientist; it was his duty to figure out what made this town tick. Adding the paper to his pocket, he spoke up again, trying to modulate his tone a bit. "Okay, fine, he's not exactly a puppet. A…mouthpiece I guess." The title Voice of Night Vale suddenly seemed very literal and very impossible. "But I will question your methods because Cecil is important to me, and he can't even remember getting his job, easily one of the most important days in his life! How are you erasing his memories? Or is it the hooded figures or the Council or whomever – I just want it to stop! Leave Cecil alone!"

His voice broke and, aghast, he fell silent, eyes wide. So much for scientific curiosity. He wondered if Station Management would reply again; the office had fallen eerily silent after all its grumblings. He was debating leaving when another piece of paper slipped out, accompanied by a rumbling.

'We will show you.'

There was a click, and Carlos looked up to see the door opening outwards, shielding the office from view. Something dark, with hissing and clicking and god knew what other noises, whipped out and grabbed Carlos's leg before he could move. He could barely hear over the pounding in his own head, but he beat at the something, only for his hands to get stuck fast as well. There was a yank and then he was on his back, stunned from the blow to his head, eyes wide but unseeing. His lab coat bunched up on the floor as he slid along, and he was dimly aware of darkness. He saw a door, the door, pass by him. With a horrified jolt, he realized he was in the office, but he couldn't see or hear anything except black and the hissing and steam and blood in his ears wooshing about as his panicked heart tried to beat its way out of his chest.

And then there was only black.

And someone's lips on his.

There was a weight on his chest and lips on his mouth and he panicked. Was he being raped? Why couldn't he move or see? It took a moment for his brain to slowly clear. The weight was a pounding, a tattoo on his chest that felt like someone was trying to break it. And the kiss wasn't a kiss. Air was being forced down his throat.

He coughed and choked, attempting to sit up. The pounding on his chest stop and hands, large and careful hands, helped him move, supporting his weight. Carlos blinked in the half light of a lamp and the moon peeking through the void and stared blearily at the figure above him. His ears and eyes took longer to adjust, but it was easy enough to tell, once he got his mind working again, that no one other than Steve Carlsberg was cradling him in the radio station's parking lot.

"Doctor Ricardo, I asked if you're all right!" His voice was strangely grating on Carlos's ears and he jerked away, sprawling on the asphalt when his limbs refused to cooperate and lift his tired body up on their own.

He stared at Steve blankly, taking in his wide-eyed look and absurd nightcap. "Why're you out here Steve?" he mumbled, lips barely moving. His arms and legs felt like they were twitching slightly, but it was hard to tell when he mostly felt tingling.

"I was taking Poochie on a walk when I saw you out here. You weren't breathing! Cecil didn't know you were out here; he's driving to pick you up now." A wet nose pressed against Carlos's cheek and he glanced at the mostly, usually invisible dog snuffling at him. A tiny creature with bow legs and a horrible underbite that gave it an orcish appearance.

"Thank you for calling Cecil. I'm okay now." Actually, he wasn't. How had he ended up here? And without a binder or sports bra on? Did Steve know his secret? "You should probably go before Cecil gets here and accuses you of the whole thing." But was Steve not the root of the problem? His head ached and for a second he thought he could smell scorched flesh.

"I probably should, but are you sure you're okay?" Steve helped him stand and started walking him to lean against the side of the radio station. Carlos balked at the thought of stepping any closer to it, so he turned and walked Carlos to the edge of the lot, where a park bench sat waiting for the bus.

"I'm okay. No point in you and Cecil getting into a fight tonight." Carlos closed his eyes, leaning forward to try and stop the spinning. "Thank you." Had he nearly died? But how?

There was a grumbling sound from down the road; Cecil was nearly upon them. Steve withdrew, making a face. "I'm glad I got to you in time Carlos. I'd stay and chat but…" He picked up Poochie's leash and started off at a quick pace, long legs eating up the ground as he hurried away.

"Carlos! Steve Carlsberg called and said he found you here! What are you doing?" Cecil didn't even turn off his car, jumping out and letting it screech as he left the door open, gathering the smaller man into a tight hug. "Why did Steve call me?" he demanded, meeting Carlos's eyes.

Carlos felt dizzy and tired. He pushed at Cecil's arms weakly before giving up and just flopping in his grasp. "Cecil, I just want to go home," he begged softly.

"Of course. Come on then." Carlos felt his arm go around Cecil's neck and the man half carried, half dragged him to the car, setting him in the passenger seat with some difficulty. A hand went over his short hair and at his insistence the seat belt was buckled around his waist before Cecil went to his side and drove to Carlos's apartment. Carlos was only half aware that Cecil didn't seem to be watching the road. He had stuck his hand in a pocket of his lab coat and found the letters.

"That looks like what Station Management writes on," Cecil said helpfully. Carlos was puzzled. He could barely make out the words, they were written so outlandishly. He'd have Cecil decipher them later. Right now the sound of chainsaws and the musty air from the car's air conditioner were lulling Carlos into a light sleep. He heard Cecil say his name but it didn't matter. None of it did really. He just wanted to sleep.


	12. Liar

It was dark when Carlos woke up, and he could feel hands on his legs, pulling his pants down. It took a moment for the shock to set in, and then he lashed out with a yell, kicking someone in the face as hard as he could and rolling to the side as soon as he was free. He rolled off the edge of a bed and landed with a thump on the ground, cracking his head against it, again. Dazed from a second blow in who knew how long (not that he could remember the first), he could only blink as he heard a familiar voice curse and saw the lights in his bedroom flick on.

Cecil was holding his nose, glasses askew. "You kick pretty well when you're out of it," he said with only a slight smile. He looked more pained than anything, but that could've been because of the whole kick to the face.

Carlos gave him a suspicious look, sitting up and almost immediately feeling dizzy. He leaned against the bed to fight back some of the vertigo. "Why were you pulling off my pants in pitch black?" he asked, feebly attempting to pull them back up. Not an easy feat when one is sitting, but he was wearing an especially baggy pair of boxers, so in the end he felt comfortable enough to kick them away.

Cecil crouched but was smart enough to keep some distance between the two of them while Carlos tried to process everything. "I thought you wouldn't like to sleep in jeans, no one does, but I also remembered that I've only seen you in shorts once, so I turned off the lights to try and give you some privacy. I even got a pair of sweats so you would stay warm in this icebox you call a room." He got up, grabbing the pants in question, and scooted forward a bit.

Carlos was still peering at him, trying to think through the entire world spinning upside down. He remembered the radio station – what had he been doing there? – and Steve running off to prevent an argument with Cecil from brewing now or on the air later. He could remember Cecil getting him in the car and driving but after that everything was a blank. "You brought me home? Wasn't the door locked?"

"No. You left it unlocked. Or the Police knew I was coming with you. Either is probable." Cecil shrugged and leaned forward, pressing a hand to Carlos's forehead. Carlos went cross-eyed trying to figure out what he was doing. "Strange, you don't have a fever."

"What, why would I – oh." If he hadn't felt hot before, he did now, remembering his lie to Cecil and the reasoning behind it. The realization made him feel a bit sick actually, and he wanted to stop thinking about it now, before he actually was sick.

Cecil didn't let it go, finally bothering to fix his glasses, a speck of blood somehow on the tip of his nose. "You weren't sick?" he asked, frowning a bit and definitely looking hurt. Carlos didn't answer but dropped his gaze, attempting to tuck a strand of nonexistent hair behind his ear nervously. Cecil was quiet for a few minutes, rocking back and forth on his heels as he dealt with this. This was the second lie Carlos had told him, but this actually hurt.

"Why?"

The word was pained, and Carlos wished he could hide. How could this one little lie hurt Cecil when he had omitted his "real" gender for months and months? Hypothesis? It was Cecil, and Cecil liked to know everything, even if the reasoning behind the everything was convoluted. He looked down at his boxers – there was a little hole in the left leg big enough to see brown – clearing his throat to buy a little more time. How did his vocal cords suddenly refuse to work? "I-I was trying to see Station Management," he finally replied. "For scientific reasons. I didn't, I didn't want to bother you, so I pretended to be sick so you wouldn't know what I was doing." He wasn't lying per say, but he certainly wasn't being honest.

"Oh." Cecil was about to press for more information, but he say that Carlos was clearly uncomfortable and was probably cold too. Cecil certainly was. He leaned forward, kissing Carlos's cheek. "Why didn't you say that to begin with? If you had told me that you were going, I would've had an intern tell you how to not anger them."

"I'm sorry Cecil." Carlos looked up at the kiss, surprised, and saw the broadcaster was smiling at him. "I'll remember to ask you next time, okay?"

"Of course. That's all I want." Cecil stood, helping Carlos back into bed. "Would you like some pants?"

He shook his head. "I'd like some ice for my head though, if you could get some in a dish towel." He was sitting up, gingerly poking at the tender spot and wincing.

"Ice is illegal now, due to it's ability to float in its liquid form," Cecil said quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed, wanting to stay but reluctant to ask. "That's going to be in tomorrow's broadcast, but I went ahead and thawed all your ice cubes while you were asleep."

"Great. Well, there's aspirin in my bathroom. How about that and some tap water?" He watched Cecil jump up and go to the bathroom to search. "Try under the sink!" Carlos flexed his fingers. They felt stiff and sore, like he'd been holding them in one position too long. He watched Cecil leave with a bottle of white pills and leaned against the headboard. He straightened again to take a sip of water and swallow before laying back again. Cecil fidgeted nervously, standing and slowly screwing the bottle cap back on. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I don't know if you want me to…stay or not," he replied, bunching up his shoulders a bit. Carlos blinked and laughed, making Cecil blush. "What?"

"Of course you can stay. Just go grab a t-shirt out of my drawer." He gestured vaguely, watching Cecil's eyes light up before he obeyed. When Cecil climbed into bed, sans jeans, Carlos rolled over and burrowed into his side. "I'm sorry for lying," he said softly, glancing up when the lights went out. He could hear his clock toking on his nightstand matching Cecil's heart beat.

Cecil's hands wandered over his scalp, nails scratching lightly and pleasantly as he avoided the bump. "It's okay. Just don't do it again, all right?"

Carlos scooted up to kiss Cecil, making the other man gasp softly with the force behind it before he returned it. Carlos found himself pinned under Cecil and for a moment he panicked. But the taller man was careful to press very little weight on him, legs on the outside of Carlos's, arms caging Carlos's head in place as they kissed. When he felt Cecil shiver, from cold or hormones, he wasn't certain, Carlos tugged the blankets over their heads, hiding themselves under the oppressive heat of the blankets. He left his hands on Cecil's lower back, exploring the muscle under the shirt curiously even as Cecil nipped at his lips.

"Ow, your teeth are too sharp." Cecil looked embarrassed, nuzzling Carlos's cheek apologetically. Carlos rubbed his knee against Cecil's leg, eventually pushing and tipping the man onto his side of the bed so Carlos could hug him. And then pull the blankets down a bit so they could breathe. "Too tired to try right now. Ask me when we wake up."

"Aren't you going to the hospital tomorrow? Or was that a lie too?"

Carlos winced at that, looking up at him petulantly. "I really have to go. I run out of testosterone in a couple of weeks and I like having a supply handy."

Cecil relaxed, though he kept the blankets up to his chin in a silent complaint about the temperature in the apartment. "Why can't you go to the hospital in town?" he asked, nuzzling Carlos's scalp.

"My insurance company doesn't even recognize Night Vale as a place that exists. Besides, I'm getting a check up too, make sure I'm healthy enough to work and don't need a change in dosage. That sort of thing. I didn't really like how Night Vale's doctors seemed overjoyed at taking my blood." Carlos sat up, dislodging Cecil for a moment, to set his alarm for 3 AM. Knowing his alarm clock, it'd be 7 when it went off. He settled back down, content to let Cecil love on him as he started to drift asleep.

"Isn't enthusiasm usually a sign that they like their job?" Cecil argued, making Carlos laugh.

"I guess. You're certainly…enthusiastic." Carlos had to muffle a yawn. "Remind me to yell for the City Council before I leave tomorrow. Ice cubes float in water because…because of the lattice formation of the molecules…" He was dozing, content with the warm body beside him, a little guilty from the lying, a little confused about his memory gap, but mostly oh so tired.

Cecil had been tired after being reeducated, his mind brought up. Apparently awake enough to start drawing parallels. He ordered his brain to shut up and let him rest. He had a long drive tomorrow and didn't want to risk falling asleep behind the wheel. He yawned and pressed his face against Cecil's neck, dimly aware of the broadcaster's legs tangled in his.

"Good night Carlos," Cecil whispered, kissing the top of his head.

"Good night."


	13. Don't Panic

Carlos fidgeted a bit in his car, sore after nearly three hours of driving. His radio was tuned to the NVCR station, but it was mostly static at this point, so he must be reaching the edge of Night Vale's influence. Good. Driving for long distances was really grating on the nerves.

He hadn't gotten a chance to talk to City Council before leaving after all, and that he blamed whole-heartedly on Cecil and his talented mouth. Thinking about that made him squirm more. He still hadn't taken any layers off, though Cecil had ended up in only his boxers somehow and let Carlos trace his musculature, trying to remember the names of each muscle, but he had let Cecil touch his chest. Through his shirt Just for a minute, and it had felt good. Then the panic had overwhelmed him and they went back to his safe zones, kissing and fingers exploring his back.

He pushed the thoughts aside as a green sign appeared, announcing his exit in a couple of miles. Convenient, as always, unless Cecil or some other Night Valian was in the car with him. He changed the radio station to catch up on whatever passed as music currently.

The city he ended up at was San Diego, not that big of a deal. He waited for what felt like a day and a half – maybe hospital waiting rooms had the same time bending properties as Night Vale. Then he was in a tiny room, drumming his feet against the tiled floor. More waiting. A nurse came in and started going over his chart.

"Your previous doctor was in…New Mexico Mr. Ricardo?" She looked over the folder at him when he nodded. "Travel much?"

"My work takes me all over the Southwest," he replied, not really lying. His work may be in one town, but when it moved everywhere, well. He smiled, sharing a joke with himself.

"Right. And you're here for a general health check, and a refill on your Delatestryl, and blood tests to ensure your hormone therapy isn't adversely affecting you, correct?"

"Right. I've been feeling nauseous and a bit woozy the past few weeks. I figured I'd rule out all possibilities while I'm here." Carlos smiled slightly, rolling his sleeves up so his blood pressure could be taken.

Weight (lost), height (he'd shrunk somehow? Had they been measuring his hair?), blood pressure, lungs, heart, everything went through like normal. He twitched a bit at the cold metal touching his bare back – he was very sensitive to touch today. The nurse let him take his own blood, very kind of her to do. She left with the blood and the doctor came in, but honestly, Carlos was getting bored and tired again. His head was aching too, probably from whatever happened last night.

"Mr. Ricardo, we'll call you as soon as the blood results are ready so you can pick up your script."

Carlos blinked and stared at the hand in his face before standing and shaking it. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed at how he had zoned out. "Do you think that could be today? I have to get home, and I'm not certain when I'll be back," he explained. Knowing Night Vale, it'd leave California as soon as he returned, if it wasn't already gone. He wasn't worried about that though. Somehow he always made it back.

The other man checked his charts, obviously thinking. Carlos had just started drifting again, trying to ignore his stomach that was set between growling and queasy, when he spoke again. "We should be able to fit that in, if you don't mind staying in town for a couple hours longer."

"That's fine. I was going to anyway." Carlos smiled and waited until he was told to leave before making his way out, blinking in the sunlight. Shielding his eyes, he decided to forgo his car for a bit and enjoy the not so oppressive heat. He was tempted to go to the beach and try and find a shell for Cecil. He turned instead further into town, to find something to eat.

It only took about four hours to get the results back. Carlos was browsing a souvenir shop, poking through the dried sea urchins, wondering if Cecil would rather have that or a sand dollar, already holding a bag of replacement test tubes and other things for the lab. It took some juggling to get to his cellphone when it went off.

"Mr. Ricardo?"

"This is he." He picked up a sea urchin and a sand dollar, deciding to get both. He could paint the sea urchin purple when he got home, and Cecil would go bananas over it.

"Mr. Ricardo, I just got your lab results back, and while we plan on redoing the test, we knew you wanted results quickly to get home. Your testosterone levels are fine for now, so we'll be giving you the usual dosage – "

"That's good to hear. I can go pick up my script now right?"

"Mr. Ricardo, I wasn't finished." Carlos mumbled a quick apology, tucking the phone against his ear as he paid for the fragile items and tucked them in his bag. "We ran some other tests as well and…your white blood cell count is abnormally low. Have you been feeling ill at all lately?"

His white blood cell count? But, that was impossible. He was perfectly healthy. "No, I haven't. No fevers. My stomach's been bothering me, but not severely."

"We'll need to get you in for additional tests, but Doctor Freeman was worried enough to put you on a CSF in the medium. Are there any sources of radioactivi – "

Carlos hung up, feeling numb. Radioactivity. He remembered taking a Geiger counter to Cecil's radio station and all over town, being a bit freaked when the entire town made the little device click like crazy. Radon Canyon was the worst spot, especially since the door had been taken down, and usually his apartment complex was no more than a mile from the hot spot. He hadn't worried about it past the first few months because everyone else seemed just fine.

His stomach twisted further as he left the shop, not hearing the man yell at him irately, not remembering to grab his bag that he had dropped and crushed everything. CSFs were expensive. And the shots could be painful. And he hadn't any other signs of radiation sickness, had he? His hair was cut too short to see if it was falling out, but before it wasn't. No major vomiting or diarrhea. Headaches were normal.

He didn't speak to the pharmacist much when he signed for the drugs, wincing at the high cost. He left quickly, the testosterone tucked in his coat in the front seat to help prevent bouncing. And then he drove, and his mind couldn't stop fiddling with horrible ideas.

What if Night Vale's time fluctuations had something to do with how diseases manifested. After all, time wasn't normal, at all, and it could be slowing whatever was making him sick way down. Did he have cancer? No, wouldn't have been caught last time he'd gone to the hospital?

One of his fellow researchers had died of radiation sickness. His stomach twisted more. That had been a horrible affair.

What would happen to him? He probably had a higher dose than Larry, but when did it become lethal? Three grays? No, that was too low. Probably more like six or seven. What would happen to Cecil? Would Carlos be erased from his memory? Or would he resent Carlos for dying on him, dying without even the benefit of a night together.

Carlos had to pull over when he thought of that, entire body going cold and numb, slumping over the wheel. What if Cecil resented him now for not being able to go further than they had? Was he being overly cautious? Maybe…maybe he should've pushed himself more.

His phone was buzzing again, but it took him a moment to regain his calm before he could answer, and by then it had gone to voicemail. He checked the name. Cecil (finally corrected by him to just be the name, without those dorky little hearts). He called back quickly.

"Hello?"

"Cecil, I know you have caller ID." He nearly laughed at Cecil's protests of 'just trying to be polite'. He covered the phone briefly and let out a breathy, almost wet sound before talking. "If you're calling because I'm not home yet, don't worry, I'm headed there now. You know Night Vale has a tendency to hide from me when I leave."

"But I want you home now. I miss you and you missed my show. Josie said she went into heaven today with her angels but was profoundly bored, so she came back. One of the angels took offense, you know, if they existed and could take offense, and stayed in heaven to pout. It wasn't the black one though, just one of the others."

"Cecil, Ceece, don't talk so fast. I'll be home soon I'm sure, and you can tell me all about it then. I pulled over to talk. Let me go and I'll get there as quickly as possible."

"Come over to my place?"

Carlos smiled at the hopefulness in Cecil's voice. "Of course Ceece. I'll head right there. Get me some clothes from my apartment."

"Okay! I'll wait for you then." He could hear movement on the other end before the sound was hidden with static.

"Good. I love you Cecil."

"I love you too Carlos. Bye!" There was a click and Carlos shut his phone soon after, setting it down and leaning back so his head was tilted up slightly. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel before starting up the car again.

Cecil's reaction to his return was typical. A lot of hugging, a lot of kissing, a lot of hands wandering where they shouldn't. Carlos didn't shove them away this time, clinging to Cecil again, scared of every lurch in his stomach like they were a confirmation of his death. He kissed back just as needily, spurring Cecil on and nearly getting pushed into bed. He broke away finally, asking to use the bathroom.

"Tell me what else I missed while I was gone today," Carlos asked, changing out of his clothes and pulling on a holey shirt over his boxers. He walked out, not surprised to catch Cecil changing as well.

"Well, Steve called in to say that the City Council are plotting to get rid of 'Thou Shalt Not Lie' day, which is absurd. It's the one day of the year that the citizens of Night Vale find themselves unable to lie. It was great fun talking to the Apache Tracker on those days. Asshole." Cecil's back was to Carlos, so the smaller man was able to sneak up on him and hug him tight before he pulled his shirt on, pressing Cecil close. The other man twisted in his grip a bit, trying to look back. "Carlos?"

"I missed you today," he said quietly, kissing between Cecil's shoulderblades and making the man shiver slightly. He smiled, despite his heart trying very hard to beat right out of his chest, turning Cecil around. "Let me show you." He tugged the man down for a kiss, stepping forward and placing a leg between the broadcaster's thighs.

"C-carlos?" Cecil stepped back, a bit surprised. He'd gotten used to being the initiator (well, usually). Carlos expected that though and stepped up again, pushing him back into the bed.

"Don't panic Cecil. I want to…try again. You've been on my mind all day since this morning." Cecil blushed as Carlos bent down again, running a hand gently over his chest as he kissed him more deeply, avoiding those sharp, reptilian teeth. Cecil sucked on his tongue, making him moan in surprise, but then he was pushed off, Cecil sitting up. He wiped at a dribble of spit on his mouth, staring up at Cecil with wide eyes. Had he messed up? Was Cecil capable of reading his thoughts now?

The man didn't speak, which was disappointing, but he bent over Carlos and kissed him more gently, tickling at his lips with his teeth as Carlos responded. He pulled away again, smiling. "I thought about you all day too," he finally said, helping Carlos sit up, pulling the shorter man into his lap. "I really miss your hair," he added, pouting a bit as he brushed his fingers over Carlos's scalp.

"It's just hair. It'll grow back." He trapped one of Cecil's hands, breathing heavily through his nose before he slipped it down low to kiss the palm. "How about you try not to kill the mood with your obsession with my hair." He smiled, meeting Cecil's eyes, surprised to find them very wide. "Did I say something wrong?"

"N-no," Cecil's voice was a pitch higher than normal, and he shifted a bit, pushing Carlos closer to his knees. "Just thinking about something."

Carlos clung to his arms, a bit uncomfortable with so much space between them. He felt like he might fall over the side of the bed and his tenuous nerve would snap. "Is…is it something good?" he asked, cursing his voice for wavering so obnoxiously. He leaned closer, craving the stability.

"I…uh…yes." Cecil huffed as Carlos clung to him, both of them trembling. He couldn't frighten Carlos again; twice in one day would probably be more than enough or either of them. Hesitatingly, he ran his fingers over Carlos's back, feeling the scientist shake more as he was pulled into a hug, Cecil's arms trapping him in place. "Are you sure you want to do this? You're shaking."

Carlos wanted to take that escape, wanted to back out now with a mumbled apology and go home to his cold apartment and take a hot, hot shower until his skin was raw. But…the needles currently tucked away in a corner of the room taunted him, reminding him that something was wrong with his body, something worse than his breasts and mismatched genitalia. So he kept quiet, trying not to panic, until he felt somewhat calm, Cecil's movements soothing. "I want to try. When has that stopped us before?" He pulled away just enough to meet Cecil's eyes before he kissed him again, a bit relieved when Cecil stopped arguing and kissed him back, hands settling in the small of his back.

Carlos's hands were on Cecil's shoulders but he slipped them down, over his chest and stomach, pulling back and taking a quick breath, smiling at Cecil before he moved forward, kissing his shoulder and neck, focusing on making a mark. "Carlos?" Cecil was playing with the hem of his shirt, slipping his fingers just underneath. It was a bit of a shock, and Carlos did stop moving, until Cecil made to move his hands away. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Can you stay…on my back though?" he asked, moving to nuzzle Cecil's throat.

"Of course." Cecil tucked his chin down a bit to kiss the top of Carlo's head, forcing him down a bit. Carlos nuzzled his collarbone briefly before going for another kiss, distracting himself as Cecil slipped his fingers up, tracing over his skin lightly. Carlos knotted his fingers in Cecil's hair, shifting a bit to press their crotches together, having to break the kiss to balance as he tried to twist his hips in a figure eight. It was enough for Cecil, making him moan and squirm, even if that threw off their balance and it ended with Carlos nearly falling off.

Carlos started laughing, partially out of nerves. "God, we suck at this," he exclaimed, hiding his face because he was about to cry. Cecil pried his hands away from his face and kissed him.

"You're trying too hard. We should let things go naturally, don't you think?" He made Carlos move, tugging the comforter down so they could be lazy in a warmer fashion. Carlos ended up kneeling on the edge of the bed, watching him with hands in his lap.

"You don't…resent me, do you?" he finally asked, voice quiet.

Cecil paused what he was doing to look up at him. "What do you mean, resent you?"

He tried not to squirm, looking away. "You know, because I'm…because we haven't had sex."

Cecil started laughing, which made Carlos's heart twinge. He was being laughed at. About sex. He watched the comforter blur before his eyes, visibly flinching when Cecil's hands settled on his shoulders. "Carlos, look at me." He didn't obey, and got a hand under his chin dragging his face up for all the good it did him. He couldn't really see Cecil's face, but he hadn't realized he'd actually started crying until the other man wiped his cheek gingerly.

"Carlos Ricardo, don't you think for a minute that I resent you for being scared. No I don't always get it and I guess I can be pushy, but I love you and respect you." Cecil pulled Carlos into a hug. "Don't think you have to force yourself to have sex with me to keep me happy. If we never go all the way, I'll be fine. So long as I have you."

"You're such a cheesy dork," Carlos said, laughing shakily as he clung to Cecil, burying his face in the man's shoulder. He was still crying, but at least he was smiling.

"B-but it's true! You're all I want and I just – " Cecil stammered, trying to explain himself, but Carlos was only half listening, thinking about his immune system and telling Cecil what's going on. Cecil realizes he's not listening and sighs, dragging him to lie down properly and hug him tight.

"Ceece?" Carlos swallowed and peeked up at him. Cecil looked down and raised his eyebrows instead of speaking. "Ceece, I love you. I'd miss you if anything happened to one of us." He couldn't tell him. It was probably nothing. Just a mix up with a chemotherapy patient or maybe the lab's idea of 'low' was different from what would be low for him. The knotting in his stomach didn't ease because on some level, he knew he was lying to himself. But it was better than worrying Cecil.

"I'd miss you too. But nothing's ever going to happen. We'll keep each other safe."

Carlos closed his eyes, wishing he could believe that. It wasn't long before both their stomachs protested the lack of dinner, so Cecil got up and made sandwiches while Carlos hunted for a movie to watch.


	14. Sick and Laughing

Throwing up was possibly the worst feeling in the world, right up there with getting rabies shots. Trying to be quiet about the whole ordeal just made it even worse.

Cecil was sprawled out in bed, thoroughly asleep, but Carlos had woken up shaking, desperately needing to clean out his entire digestive system. After he finished throwing up, he sat on the toilet, washing his face and brushing his teeth while his bowels cleaned themselves out too. He kept some mint gum in the bathroom now, and once he was done getting chunks of potato out of his teeth (not so good the second time tasted) he opened several pieces and chewed, trying to get the taste and texture out of his mouth.

In the two weeks, he'd been steadily growing worse. It was like the trip out of Night Vale had flipped the switch in his sickness and while before he had only a few symptoms sporadically manifesting, now he was in a steady decline.

It didn't help that he refused to tell anyone about it. He made frequent trips to Night Vale General Hospital under the guise of borrowing their equipment to take x-rays of a few mirrors and clocks. In reality, he had broken down and started taking a treatment to try and keep his white blood cells boosted, supplementing the treatment with his own to try and take care of the other symptoms.

He stood after wiping, noting with a wince that he was bleeding again. Standing was a bit of an affair; all he wanted to do was sleep. But Cecil was waiting for him, even if he was asleep, and the thought of a warm, safe body next to him was enough to spur him on, sprawling on his side of the bed before dragging the blankets over him again.

Cecil mumbled in his sleep, curling and pressing close to the dark-skinned man, hands pressed against his chest. Carlos sighed and pushed Cecil's hands down to his stomach instead. He yawned, ignoring the pressure in his lower gut. He'd taken medicine before going to bed. It had to kick in soon, right? Besides, surely he had nothing left inside him. He felt drained of energy and food.

He fell asleep and woke up to fingers on his scalp and neck. Cecil was kissing him and stroking him, chanting softly. Despite feeling somewhat awake, Carlos was too warm and comfortable to move, so he listened to Cecil's smooth voice as he chanted.

"Oh Carlos." He was surprised when the chant broke down. "Oh sweet Carlos, what are you hiding from me?" The hands ran along his neck and shoulders, and down his back until Cecil's arms could reach no further. "Oh Carlos."

He shivered at the repetition of his name, blinking slowly and looking up, pretending to yawn and stretch like he'd just woken up. "Morning Ceece," he said softly, reaching out to press his hands against the man's cheeks. "Have you been up long?" he asked innocently.

"Not very," Cecil replied, bending over to kiss him. "Did you get up last night? I woke up a bit and you weren't here."

"Bathroom," came the simple reply. He kissed Cecil once again, rolling on top of him to ignore his stomach. "Cecil, I don't want to go to work today," he whined, kissing the man's chin and nose.

"Don't you have to though? I certainly do," he said, poking at Carlos's forehead. "You need to get up. They'll be waiting for you."

"Urgh, I know. I just…don't want to go. I don't want to go to Radon Canyon." He was leading the team through an emergency radiation drill to make sure they knew what to do, after he was, well, gone.

"Then go a different day. Come to the station with me," Cecil suggested hopefully but Carlos shook his head slowly.

"It's important that I go. My team needs me." He still didn't get up though, even when Cecil's hands dropped so he could. "But it doesn't mean I want to go."

"What happened to Mr. Self Reliant?" Cecil teased, poking at his side. "Come on Carlos, we need to be productive adults." Carlos just grumbled and eventually rolled off of the man, sitting up and trying not to sway. Dizzy again. He was getting used to it though, if he didn't move suddenly.

"I'm going to shower, okay? Can you make some breakfast? I have…eggs I think." He felt Cecil shift, arms going around his shoulders and a pair of cool lips on the back of his neck.

"Course I'll make breakfast. Want me to call Trisha and let her know you're going to be late?" Cecil asked, making Carlos shiver as he trailed his fingernails over his arms.

Carlos leaned his head against Cecil's, thinking. This could be a trick of Cecil's, to call his coworkers and ask them about his behavior. But did it really hurt anything? It wasn't like they actually knew, and if Cecil did do it…well, it was rather touching, in a guilt-inducing way. "Yes please. But just an hour late. I'll eat quick and you can have the place to yourself." He twisted, not caring when his breasts brushed over Cecil's arm as he gave the man a little peck on the lips. When he was up and in the shower, massaging them and realizing they were sore from wearing a binder yesterday (proof that he was getting out of practice of wearing it, he thought), he blushed at the thought of Cecil touching him.

How had he gotten to trust Cecil so much that even an accidental touch didn't freak him out anymore? He ran tentative circles around his masses of flesh, imagining what it would be like to have scars instead of boobs. He smiled, until shampoo dripped into his eyes, making him curse.

He couldn't have surgery now with his blood count so low, but Cecil was proving that he really didn't need it. When he stepped out of the shower, he glanced at himself in the mirror, and only mild annoyance hit him when he stared at himself. And that was because there were some reddish bumps running across part of his arm. Another symptom to add to the dizziness, puking, and other things? He turned around, dressing quickly and tugging a snug bra on. He was too sore for a binder today.

Cecil had raided the fridge and made a sort of potato casserole with eggs and cheese and who knew what else because it was so full of cheese that Carlos could barely taste the potato. They ate together, a quiet affair that included a lot of foot nudging and smirks or blushes when the feet went higher up.

"Cecil!" Carlos nearly choked on his orange juice as Cecil's foot tickled the inside of his thigh. Cecil looked concerned, more over the choking than his own teasing. "You're such a – " He shook his head, laughing once he could breathe again.

"Hmm, such a what? Gorgeous specimen of the human being? Brilliant but humble radio host? The best science assistant in Night Vale?" Cecil's guesses and accompanying poses – taken right out of some fashion magazine and looking absurd on a man who would wear a fuzzy pair of earmuffs in the middle of summer – made Carlos laugh harder, actually pushing his food away so he could lean against the table. Cecil laughed too, preening a bit.

"I-I am going to have to leave on that love," Carlos finally said, still giggling as he finally caught his breath again. He stood, kissing Cecil on the top of his head. "You going to be okay?" he asked, getting a smirk as an answer.

"I just don't know Carlos. I might die of boredom if I don't have something to do," he said mockingly, still smirking. Carlos rolled his eyes and went to brush his teeth. Cecil followed, warming up. "If you don't hear my show this afternoon, you know where to find the body," he said, sitting on the toilet and draping himself over the back. Carlos tried hard not to snort mouthwash through his nose. You didn't have to be a scientist to know that would burn.

Knowing he was being ignored, Cecil moved and draped himself over Carlos's shoulders. "Do you want to be responsible for my death?" he asked, and momentarily Carlos's stomach felt like it'd turned to stone. "I – " He couldn't help but remember New York, but a kiss on his ear brought him back to reality.

"Come back to me Carlos. Watch the helicopters," Cecil said, kissing behind his ear before pulling away. "Don't let them take you away from me."

Carlos rolled his eyes affectionately, pushing back the residual guilt. "I won't. I'll never leave you Cecil. I like you too much you overgrown dork." He stood on tiptoes to kiss him briefly, leaving to grab his shoes, labcoat, and wallet. "I'll see you this evening."

"At the alley?" Cecil acted his shadow a little longer, trailing him to the front door.

"Yes, there, so long as work doesn't run late." Or he didn't start up with throwing up again. Trying to live a normal life and hide illness was incredibly hard.

He was in the car, laughing to himself at Cecil's antics over breakfast when he realized that Cecil had probably been trying to cheer him up, even though he didn't know what for exactly.

His smile started to fade, only to return in full force, his insides figuratively melting a little. Ah, Cecil, he thought to himself, such a sweet, sweet man. He twisted his hands around the steering well, parking but idling as he went to help pack the equipment in his car. He'd make it up to the man tonight, he decided, ignoring the questions as to why he was grinning so much from the others.


	15. The City Council Hates

Don't let Cecil find out what you're planning. That was the number one thought Carlos had when he woke up. It was "Thou Shalt Not Lie Day," finally, and Carlos was scared.

Actually, scared was too mild of a term, he decided, rolling over and burying his face in Cecil's chest. Scared worked for when his reflection seemed to move without him doing anything, or when his fridge was suddenly emptied and he had to go to the store in the middle of the night with the weirdest of the weird. Scared worked for the hooded figures. Scared didn't work for this.

Cecil grumbled something in his sleep, something about fish, and curled tighter around Carlos. The scientist squeezed him in response, smiling to himself. Whatever it was he was feeling, two parts terror, one part curiosity, faded a bit when he looked at Cecil. It didn't matter that his hair wasn't growing back – the fuzz that Cecil enjoyed running his hands over had become patchy, so Carlos shaved it all off at once and Cecil never brought it up or touched his scalp again – it didn't matter that when he sat up he got dizzy and had to sit still until blood went back to all the right parts of his body. It didn't even matter that much that he was dying, except in that way where it did because he didn't want to leave Cecil. He was being selfish, he knew, but he didn't like the thought of Cecil moving on after he eventually died.

Eventually, Carlos remembered Cecil had to work (he had the day off; Trish and the others were making him take it), and he nudged his boyfriend gently, first with his nose, then shaking his shoulder lightly. "Cecil, Cecil wake up," he said softly, not sure I he could be heard over his clock. The other man grumbled and rolled away, curling up as he took the covers with him. Carlos sighed but took advantage of the moment by easing himself up, eyes firmly shut to prevent the world from swirling before his eyes. Once he felt comfortable and more or less vertical, he shook Cecil again. "Come on Ceece, I know time is warped, but you can still be late to work."

"I don't wanna," the broadcaster complained, squeezing the covers around himself more firmly and grumbling to himself as Carlos kept shaking him. "Carlos," he whined, finally opening his eyes and blinking in the dim light. He stretched out, long limbs dominating the bed, and Carlos briefly wondered if he could actually stretch himself out at will. He'd have to take measurements later, after today.

"Morning Cecil," he said with a grin. "Would you like pancakes? I found a mix that's gluten free," he explained quickly. He kept his very rare black market dabbling a secret from Cecil, but that was just so he didn't have to be reeducated and Carlos locked away. "Or we could have waffles. Josie bought me a waffle maker. Said it was a present for us both."

"I'd really rather have you," Cecil said, so plainly and naturally that for a moment Carlos's brain forgot to work. He sucked in a breath of air, feeling like he'd just been electrocuted, and looked down, only to see that Cecil himself looked thoroughly taken aback, one hand actually covering his mouth.

Then it clicked.

"O-oh." Carlos laughed, remembering. "This is TSNL Day. I didn't r-realize you literally couldn't lie." That made him hope Cecil didn't ask what he planned on doing today.

"I'm so so sorry Carlos," Cecil said, a bit muffled as he chose to hide his entire face instead of just his mouth behind his hands.

Carlos just laughed again, a bit shakily, before bending over and kissing his hands lightly. "It's okay. I like the fact you're still interested even though I'm so terribly slow." He adjusted the sleeve of his shirt, noticing the cuff had risen up his arm and tugging it down so he could hide the bandage there. "I'm going to go fix breakfast, okay? You just…pull yourself together."

There was a noise that either could've been agreement or distress, but Carlos took it as agreement as he was able to get out of bed without Cecil clinging to him. He walked slowly, noting each pain to write down later, setting up for breakfast slowly. He had stopped cooking bacon and eggs yesterday, the smell making him sick. As it was, his stomach turned at the sight of the egg carton and he quickly shut the fridge, trying not to breathe as he cooked.

He wasn't going to be eating breakfast today.

Cecil arrived finally as the smell of waffles and maple syrup got to him, and he draped himself over Carlos's back as the man tried to stab at the waffle stuck in the cooker. "Ceece, you aren't help. Get off." He stabbed lightly at Cecil's hand, making him move. "Go start your coffee."

"Okay, bossy," Cecil said a bit snarkily, poking at the pot before checking the filter. "So, you aren't working today?" he asked after a few minutes of fidgeting, fixing the coffee just so before he started it and sat at Carlos's rickety table.

Carlos freed the waffle, rather mangled now, and set it on a plate with two others, turning to grab the syrup and a fork. Once he was seated, he shoved the pack of cards that kept the table steady back in place, smiling. "Trisha and everyone else decided I needed the day off, some downtime because I don't look well." Okay, so it seemed he could hold some things back if he wanted to…

"Are you sick Carlos?" Cecil asked, looking at the single plate in front of him and then Carlos's empty side.

Carlos's smile faded slightly as he tried to think of a way around answering that. He sighed. "I'm not feeling well. But don't worry. I'm sure I'll be fine if I just get some rest and the right treatment." Not a lie at all. But so long as Cecil didn't ask if he was dying, he should be safe. He made a note to try and either be as precise as possible this afternoon or to goad the City Council into talking. Really, it wouldn't be hard, considering their nature.

"Well that explains the clothes," Cecil said, cutting into his waffle. Carlos looked down at his pajamas of choice, long sleeved and legged to hide the weird red bumps, he forgot what they were called, and the bandages from falling over in the lab yesterday. He pouted, crossing his arms across the purple shirt.

"You bought me this, remember? You wanted me to join your bowling team." Cecil just laughed and shook his head.

"I thought you had finally figured out how cold your apartment is." Cecil pushed the plate away as the coffee maker went off, standing and turning it off. He turned and grabbed Carlos's chair, dragging it out. "And if you're sick, you shouldn't be up. You're going back to bed right now and staying there. I'll clean up."

"Okay." He didn't protest as Cecil followed him back into the bedroom, watching him lie down and going so far as to tuck him in. "Cecil, really, you're going overboard," he finally said, a bit meekly as Cecil stole a kiss.

"Just go to sleep. The news probably won't be very interesting, so you won't be missing much." Cecil sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his cheek. "I can recite a chant to help if you'd like?"

"No, it's okay. You should go eat while the waffles are warm." Carlos nudged him lightly, smiling. "I'll drift off eventually."

Cecil looked doubtful and refused to leave until Carlos at least closed his eyes and shifted until he was comfortable enough to plausibly go to sleep. And it seemed at some point he did go to sleep because he woke up in surprise, staring at a (now cool) mug of what appeared to be tea. "Cecil?"

No answer. He tried to stand quickly, and fell back with a groan, holding his head. No time to let death take a hold of him now. He needed to leave now, while Cecil was busy with his show. It took awhile for him to shower and dress, but by the time he left the house, no one could tell that he was struggling with himself.

The thing with the City Council was that they were ridiculously easy to find. City Hall was in the middle of downtown, the meeting room of the City Council supposedly in an underground bunker a few levels below the meeting hall where Carlos first met Cecil. And since Night Vale seemed to want to squish itself together again, he could avoid listening to Cecil's show and the accompanying guilt that came from lying to him.

"It's…for both our benefits," he said to himself, avoiding the look of a confused Erika. "He can't leave Night Vale and I…can't stay. So if I find out what the tether is…maybe…" He shook his head and regretted that decision almost instantly. He couldn't think of that, couldn't get his hopes up. He was doing this for purely scientific reasons.

These purely scientific motivations crumbled as soon as he was given a numbered ticket and sent to wait for his turn at the elevator. Not a…lot of people were coming back up, he noticed. Then again, not everyone going were people.

A pair of hooded figures were waiting their turn in the seats next to him, speaking in a language that caused goosebumps to appear across the back of his neck. He tried to lean away from them, listening in on the conversation the secretaries were having while wishing he had brought a book or something. He hadn't expected this many people to show up.

"The only reason they didn't cancel it this year is because it's Thor's day," one of the women was explaining to the other, tapping some information into her computer. "They got in a big fight with Thor around 1863 and agreed to respect him by never cancelling Thursdays."

"So that's the real reason they cancelled Wednesday last year," the second woman said, nodding to herself. "I was wondering why they didn't just cancel it if they hate 'Thou Shalt Not Lie' Day."

Actually, that did explain a lot. Did the City Council have the ability to rewrite time? And Thor, as in the Norse god Thor of thunder, he existed? He didn't get a lot of time to think on this because he was called and he stumbled forward, handing his ticket to the more talkative woman before making it to the elevator, fidgeting. There were two buttons, up and down, but of course the elevator didn't go up.

The chamber looked like it belonged better in a 16th century castle than buried beneath a relatively modern building. The elevator opened directly into a circular space lined with stones and arched pillars, thirteen seats raised so Carlos, short as he was, found himself staring at twelve varying pairs of shoes only partially hidden by red cloaks. He was careful to avoid the bloodstone circle in the middle of the room, jumping when a door slammed, followed by the audible clicking of heels against stone. The thirteenth member of the Council sat down, and Carlos felt like he'd been plunked right in the middle of a bad vampire movie as all thirteen faces, cloaked as they were, stared him down.

"Carlos Ricardo, what do we have the pleasure of seeing you here?" one person, he couldn't tell if they were a man or woman, spoke, near one end.

"I-" He started to speak, but another raised their hand.

"That was a rhetorical question Carlos. We know why you are here."

"We also know that you are too much of a coward to ask us such a question."

He felt his face grow hot and knew he was blushing, grateful the light was dim enough that it couldn't be seen. Heart hammering in his chest, he took half a step forward. "W-what makes you think that?" he demanded, tucking a hand into his lab coat. When had he put that on?

"The Cowardly Lion, afraid of everything that matters and shying away from serious discussions. Like the fact you're dying."

Carlos flinched, stepping back again. "How do you – "

"This is Night Vale. We are its caretakers until the day we can assume our true form. Thus, we know everything."

Carlos just stared, stunned into silence. "It's…impossible. There's thirteen of you! How can thirteen people know everything there is in Night Vale?" he blurted. He watched the group shift in their seats before one of them spoke again.

"That is what the Sherriff's Secret Police are for. They gather information and we process it. We give it to the Voice and the Voice broadcasts it to the town and keeps calm."

"The Voice is Cecil, right?" Carlos felt himself waver, physically and mentally, and he stumbled back, right into a plain office chair. He sat gratefully, tugging the lab coat around himself.

"That is correct," one of the Council said. "Cecil is our Voice, the Voice of Night Vale. But, little lion man, never able to face his fears, do you understand what that means?" the voice asked mockingly.

"No," Carlos said quietly, and he could almost hear the laughter in their voices. "But I'm not going to leave until you tell me."

There was a mixture of sighs from the cloaks. "Oh, come on Carlos, don't be like that. Really, it'd be easier on everyone if you just leave all this alone and go and get treated. Or die. Dying is always a viable choice. We can even wave the processing fee for you, if you'd like."

He shuddered at the thought. "I don't want to die. I want…to take Cecil with me." He didn't expect the reaction he got. Every single person there stood in a rush, and he could almost feel the glowers directed his way. He shrank in his seat, clearing his throat. "Well, I can't…live here. The radiation has made me sick, and I'm dying, like you said," he explained meekly. "I just don't want to lose Cecil."

"Why? You're too ashamed of yourself to go any further, despite both of you desiring to do so. One of these days he'll be sick of waiting and leave you to die, if you haven't already." The person speaking paused and another picked up without pause. "Maybe that's what you're hoping for, a coward's way out."

Carlos stood quickly, glaring back even as the room same before his eyes. No passing out! When the lightheadedness refused to go away, he was forced to just accept it and press on. "Cecil wouldn't do that unless you reeducated him into forgetting me!" There was a twittering amongst the red cloaks that didn't bode well. "I request, no, demand, I demand that you tell me why Cecil can't leave Night Vale and why you and Station Management force him to go through reeducation so much!"

There was more quiet talking, murmuring this time, and another, collective sigh. "Sit down Carlos. No need to be a dramatist. This story might take awhile."


	16. Abandon Ship

Carlos settled into his chair with a glass of tap water, helpfully handed to him by a child with no eyes or mouth. The City Council settled as well, shifting and pulling bottles of something from the depths of their cloaks. Carlos waited, legging jumping nervously of its own accord. He forced it to stop once he noticed, clearing his throat.

"Well?" The got their attention, and a second, nearly synchronized sigh.

"Very well. We'll start by saying, we didn't choose Cecil to become the Voice. Night Vale did."

Cecil was born and raised in Night Vale, leaving as normal a childhood as could be expected in a town where earthquakes, floods, and strange lights were a regular occurrence. Honestly, how people aged was uncertain because time was just so weird in Night Vale.

Nothing happened until he was older. Then he was 'selected.'

The City Council didn't understand how it worked or why Cecil was chosen and not one of them, but Night Vale apparently had tired of how they ran the town and wanted a voice. The Voice. Cecil…changed. It wasn't physical, not really, though he seemed a bit fuzzier around the edges somehow, like someone had taken a photo as he moved ever so slightly. But he knew things. As they happened. He heard things in real time. And when he spoke, the entire town could either rise in anger or sink into apathy.

That sort of power was terrifying to the Council, not under their control. Cecil wasn't even aware that he had any sort of powers; his internship at Night Vale Community Radio had resulted in his own show, and he answered to the mysterious Station Management quite directly. And nobody messed with Station Management. Nobody.

Others recognized Cecil's potential and tried to use it. Steve was one, and he got the furthest before the Council perfected a new technique. Reeducation. It turned out that wiping Cecil's mind wiped whatever control he had of his powers (if he was aware of them, and typically he never was) with the added bonus that they could reprogram his mind. Only in little ways, or else their changes would be noticed. Turn suspicion into apathy, love to disdain, disdain to hate. The Voice became malleable to their will, and soon they had control over the town again. The Voice was, for the most part, smothered.

Did the reeducation have side effects? Sure. Cecil's mind filled in the blanks with created memories: a trip to the beach, a vacation in Europe. But that wasn't so important, just his voice and personality.

The Council needed the Voice to control the rest of the town, and they relished their newfound power through Cecil. They couldn't remember when this had started – was it before there actually was a radio station or had it even happened yet – but there was one thing they could agree on…

"We've never had to reeducate him quite so frequently, but ever since you've arrived Carlos Ricardo, he's had all sorts of unpleasant ideas in that little empty head of his. Honestly, we're shocked that he hasn't succumbed to the shock yet and erased you from his memory. It would be easier on him really."

Carlos twitched as the Council ended the short tale with an added insult to his relationship. "The town is alive?" he repeated quietly.

"In a sense. The hooded figures appeared after Cecil became the Voice. We assume they are part of the town's way of controlling itself and the most…obvious signs of intellect. Think of it like a tree. It's alive and sentient enough to grow towards food and light, but it doesn't react overtly in any sense of time we've been able to comprehend."

He stood slowly, setting his glass down and making sure his head didn't start swimming with the effort. He wanted to throw up, but for a different reason now. Once he felt certain that he wasn't going to fall over, he stood as straight as he could manage, glaring at each hood in turn despite his shaking. "You lot are despicable. Turning a human being into your puppet, erasing his memory, destroying his opinions and personality. And Night Vale – " He stomped the ground as if that would catch the town's attention. "If what you're saying is true, then it's in the wrong too for taking and using Cecil like that! You won't be hurting him anymore though." He swallowed thickly, speaking wildly. "I'm taking him with me, where you'll never hurt him again."

"Carlos, you're making a mistake!" The Council rose to their feet sporadically but Carlos wasn't listening, turning and half running, half stumbling from the room to the elevator. When it finally made it to the main floor, he went cold. People were staring at him. Did they already know? It didn't matter. He had to get Cecil before he changed his mind.

The sky looked darker…less taupe, more grey. As he walked, he noticed people were staring at him. It was harder to tell with hooded figures, but they seemed to be looking at him too. And there were a few more as well. They seemed to increase as he approached the radio station.

"Dr. Ricardo!" And intern – Vivia maybe? – tried to stop him when he made it to the station and started down the hall to Cecil's sound booth.

"Cecil, come on, we're going," Carlos edged around the door, interrupting the traffic report.

Startled, Cecil looked up, not quite smiling. "Carlos, I'm on the air. If you wait a moment – "

He didn't get a chance to finish as Carlos jerked the headphones off his head, making him cry out in pain and cover his ears to protect them. Carlos just pulled him up, panting softly. There was a grumbling noise which set him off again. "Come on Cecil; we're getting out of here."

"But…Carlos…what's going on?" Cecil froze when Station Management's door started to creak. Carlos just jerked him along more quickly, hurrying to the main door and breaking into clear –

Blackness. The sky was darker now, nearly black, and the radio station was surrounded by hooded figures and a few confused figures. Carlos turned to his confused boyfriend, pulling him down for a quick, focusing kiss. "Cecil, do you trust me?" When he got a baffled nod, he continued, squeezing his cheeks ever so lightly. "Then let's get in your car and…and get out of here." He stumbled over his words, the effort of moving so quickly catching up to him. Or was time speeding up? He looked up. The hooded figures were getting close enough, almost in touching distance, and they were beginning to levitate.

"Carlos, are you okay? Carlos!" The earth was shaking, no. It was just him. Cecil was shaking him. He blinked and refocused, seeing the panic in Cecil's eyes. "Carlos, go where?"

"Out of Night Vale, anywhere, just gone. Come on, let's go," he babbled, tugging on Cecil weakly. Cecil obliged again, letting Carlos lead the way to his simple car, trying to hand over the keys. Carlos shook his head, pushing them back. "I can't drive."

"Okay." Perplexed, Cecil slid into the driver's seat, waiting for Carlos to shut his door. He pulled out smoothly, trying to avoid hitting the hooded figures.

Carlos locked the doors before slumping in his seat, hand over his racing heart. "Cecil, I-I'll explain it soon, okay? We just need to…get out. I'll take care of you, okay?"

"You're the one that needs taking care of," Cecil argued, eyes glued on the road as he had to focus on not hitting anyone. He jabbed his glasses up his nose, a nervous gesture Carlos recognized. He reached over, taking one of his hands gently, making Cecil look at him.

The car jerked upwards, and since Cecil had long since taken out the seatbelts, they both went forward, Carlos hitting his head on the dashboard. "Who did you hit?"

"Nobody! I'm not a bad driver, even though everyone is in the middle of the road." Cecil honked his horn before giving up and skirting around them, hitting the curb just in time for the car to jerk again, this time to the left. It tried to roll, lifting on two wheels, before landing with a solid thump. Carlos held his head, bashing his arms against his own door when the car landed. "Carlos, there's cracks in the road!"

He looked out, and dark as it was outside, he could see them, growing. He looked ahead, but could no longer see the road that led to his apartment. The town was growing.

Night Vale didn't want them to leave.

"Cecil, ignore the hooded figures and please, just go for the love of God!" When Cecil didn't react, except to stare, Carlos huffed and all but crawled into Cecil's lap, getting a foot in place and stomping it over the broadcaster's. Cecil yelped, gripping the steering wheel with a death grip as they rocketed down the street, only for the car to nearly get thrown again.

"Carlos, please, what's going on?" Cecil asked but Carlos merely shook his head, feeling dazed. Cecil had protected him this time, one hand pulling him close so he had hit his head against ribs and skin instead of plastic and faux leather. They were still driving, into pitch black, risking running into a building or someone they liked, like Josie or the barber who had replaced Telly. The ground was constantly shaking now, and Carlos didn't help Cecil focus, clinging onto the apparently solid man.

"I can't explain; we just have to get out and everything will be okay," he said, promising Cecil even if he couldn't guarantee it himself. What if Cecil got sick again? No, he couldn't think of that! Night Vale had to give him up, if it cared about its Voice at all.

They were nearing the edge of town now, the hooded figures pressing close, their voices coming through the radio, a shrieking, awful noise that hurt both their ears. Carlos tried to smash the radio but it kept coming through and one quake nearly upset the car again. Carlos threw up, unable to control it, and the stench was overpowering. It was too dark to tell if there was any blood.

"Carlos, there's the sign!" Cecil sounded excited, child-like. Carlos looked up from his mess with a groan, clinging to the handle. He smiled. Out past the sign, maybe a mile away, the sky didn't look so dark. And they were leaving the figures behind.

"We're almost there Ceece," he murmured, too quiet to be heard. Cecil glanced at him anyway and smiled. Carlos smiled back.

"I love yo – "

There was a final shake, like the earth was a horse attempting to dislodge a pair of biting flies, and Cecil jerked the wheel to try and stay on the road, but he was flung into the door, Carlos into him. Then they were both flung forward as they hit the town sign, the front of the car crumpling like paper, glass shattering around Carlos's head. He groaned, trying to find Cecil as he seemed to fly through the windshield, landing heavily on the burning hood, everything going black.


	17. Aftermath

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Carlos shifted and winced as something tugged on his arm, making a soft noise. He would open his eyes, but they felt like lead weights rested on them. He groaned instead, lifting one hand to feel at what was pulling at his skin.

A bandage? That was unexpected. He followed the length of the bandage, finding a tube. He groaned again, trying to force open his eyes. He finally succeeded, looking down at his arm first, then the room.

He was in a hospital room, lying in bed with the blankets pulled up to his armpits, though his arms weren't covered. A headache inducing roll of his head revealed that his room wasn't a single patient one – not that he expected it to be. His insurance was horrible after all. There was a familiar swatch of hair on that pillow of the bed next to his. Cecil? He tried to call his name but his voice came out as a muffled croak, and the tubes on his face twitched, betraying their existence. He reached up and patted his face, feeling the tubes that went into his nose and some crusted blood.

The door swung open, and Carlos followed the movement with his eyes, not daring to move his head. The nurse was dressed in purple scrubs decorated with round eyes with blue irises, he noticed. He swore one blinked at him but forgot it a moment later.

"I'm glad to see you're awake, Dr. Ricardo. We were worried that you wouldn't, you know." Her accent was pretty thick, but he couldn't place it. Instead, he groaned when she lifted his arm, checking the bandage. "I know, I know sweetheart. Absolutely everything hurts right now. But it'll be okay soon enough. You were in a pretty terrible accident after all." She swept her hand over his scalp and he realized he had bandages on his head and face. Briefly he wondered why his feeling was so numbed that he hadn't noticed before, but was it really any surprise? They were probably pumping him full of morphine or some other pain killer right now. It explained the heaviness too.

"Now, Cecil's woken up once already. He's not in as bad a shape as you sweetie, but he's pretty exhausted, so don't be surprised if he doesn't wake up before you drift off again." The nurse moved about some more, adjusting things, taking his heart rate and temperature, offering him ice chips and chapstick for his cracked lips. He ended up ignoring her towards the end of it, staring at Cecil.

"He'll be fine sweetheart; it's you we got to worry about. With your WBC so low, it's a shock that you're not sicker." He wanted to roll his eyes, but it would've taken too much effort, so he remained quiet and still, watching her change out his IV bag. The lack of a metal stand didn't bother him.

When she left, it was a relief to return to silence, and he shut his eyes with a pleased sigh that made his tubes in his nose twitch unpleasantly. He drifted off again into a half sleep, unaware of time passing, or really anything until a warm hand pressed against his cheek. He was startled awake, but his movements were so sluggish that he could only blink blearily in the direction of the hand, waiting for his eyes to focus.

Cecil smiled at him, making his heart jump. Cecil! Warm and safe and alive, a bandage covering his forehead and making his hair go haywire. Carlos tried to talk, taking in a deep breath and pursing his lips, but Cecil laid a long finger over his lips, shooshing him gently.

"You shouldn't speak. The nurse told me you were very, very sick and were lucky to be alive." He didn't sound angry, just tired and maybe a little bit relieved. Carlos tried to move his legs a bit, panicking when he felt more tubes, face turning warm. Cecil noticed and gave him a small smile. "It's going to be okay Carlos."

He stood and leaned over to kiss him, hand by his head for balance. Carlos kissed back the best he could, feeling light headed as oxygen was being blown into his nose, trying to arch his back to get to Cecil and deepen the kiss. Cecil was keeping it frustratingly light and chaste though, until Carlos lifted one hand and found the back of his hospital gown, pushing him down against his chest.

"Mmgh, Carlos…you need to…breathe." Cecil broke away finally, panting for air and watching Carlos with concern when he realized his lungs were screaming for oxygen. He breathed deeply, still clinging to Cecil tight with the one arm, afraid he might disappear on him. Cecil shuffled a bit, trying to close his gown. "Carlos, I really don't think you want me mooning whoever walks in next, right?"

Carlos shook his head and grunted, letting go of Cecil to hold his head. Cecil didn't leave though. He crawled onto the bed carefully, legs folded against Carlos's side and an arm going over his chest. Carlos watched him, surprised and questioning. He didn't try to speak though, knowing Cecil would only shoosh him again.

"You can go back to sleep. I won't leave you," Cecil promised, gingerly nuzzling the shell of his ear. Carlos smiled, relaxing and minutely moving into the touch. The painkillers or whatever was getting to him again, and, unwillingly but a bit calmer, he fell back asleep.

It was a couple more days before Cecil would let Carlos try talking, and they spoke about the little things at first, avoiding the main topic. Carlos had been moved to one side of the bed so Cecil could curl up with him, and they both had taken to ignoring the nurses' warnings that they could mess up their tubes if they weren't careful. They were both healing quickly and well, and Carlos was being treated for his radiation sickness with high hopes that he could recover, despite all the symptoms he had shown.

The best parts were, to Carlos, the kissing.

Cecil would slip into his lap while he was propped up, and now that he didn't feel like every movement was going to tear his head in two, he was pretty insistent on kissing a lot. Cecil seemed to enjoy indulging him, not really caring to stop just because a nurse or a doctor or a technician came in to do something.

"So, we are not in Night Vale?"

It was lunch time, and Cecil was poking at his serving of red jell-o, sitting on his bed properly for once. "No, we aren't. I've checked at least half a dozen times myself. We're in San Diego."

Carlos watched Cecil poke for a bit longer, in quiet thought. "And you haven't felt ill or anything?" he asked, almost wanting to strangle himself for being so hopeful.

"Well, I mean, I've felt sick, in the beginning, but I'm pretty certain that was from the car…accident…" Cecil trailed off and gave Carlos an unreadable look. Carlos looked away, feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry I took you from Night Vale, Ceece. I guess I…really owe you that explanation now, huh?" He attempted to smile, but just thinking of what the City Council had told him made his stomach clench and the already unappetizing mush he was being forced to eat look positively disgusting.

Cecil's response was to push the tray away from Carlos and slip into bed with him, still holding his own dessert. He tucked himself against Carlos's side, squirming until Carlos wrapped his arm around the broadcaster's shoulders. "You do owe me an explanation, but if you think I'm going to be mad, I won't be. Except where you didn't tell me you were sick." He shot Carlos a dark look, making the shorter man wilt.

"How - ?"

"The nurse, Miss Zabriskie, told me. She said you're lucky to be alive."

Carlos sighed and smiled wanly, leaning against Cecil. "All right, I'll explain. And once I'm better, you can punch me as much as you like." After a bit more shifting to ensure Cecil had some space without running the risk of dislodging Carlos's catheter, Carlos told Cecil everything, starting from the doctor's visit that diagnosed him. Cecil interrupted, of course, but it was only for clarification on points, and Carlos was able to finish, feeling a bit worn out from the effort of talking for so long. Cecil was a bit bug-eyed himself.

"I never would have thought…do you think that Steve and I used to be friends? Cecil asked, mouth curling in disgust at the thought. He caught himself and stopped, and when Carlos looked him over, he thought for a moment that Cecil looked frightened.

He pressed a hand over one of the other man's. "Ceece, they never took you away. Your personality is still the same as it was when we first met, and that is the you I fell in love with." Twisting was hard, but he managed to lay mostly on his side and kissed Cecil gently. "I love you, this you, and despite what they said, I don't think they ever could've taken you away."

Cecil was quiet for a bit, letting himself be scared and honest, hiding in Carlos's chest. The motion made the other man gasp and tense up briefly, but then Cecil started to cry, and Carlos forgot his discomfort, squeezing him as close as he could, whispering into Cecil's hair until he calmed and Carlos could barely speak.

"Thank you," Cecil said when he pulled away, rubbing at his eyes. He kissed Carlos lightly before laying down, stealing a corner of the pillow. "So what do we do now?"

Carlos laughed at how he acted, stretching out over Carlos and the bed like it was all his. Carlos didn't mind the thought of that, and he soon managed to lay completely on his side, stroking Cecil's cheek and hair.

"Well, first I have to get better obviously," he started.

"Obviously."

"Then, well, I don't know. I'm certain that someone will replace me as leader of the research team in Night Vale, and I didn't think to grab anything before getting you." He studied Cecil more closely, remembering something that the Council had mentioned. "I don't want to go too far; I'm worried you might be connected still in some way and going to the East Coast would only hurt you."

"I'm stronger than you right now," Cecil grumbled, poking Carlos in the ribs. Carlos poked back, making him squeak and squirm, ticklish.

"I think I can get my transcripts from the school and you could get a job, in a normal radio station."

"No Station Management?" Cecil asked, frowning at that.

Carlos shook his head. "I'm pretty certain that Station Management in the rest of the world are not going to threaten bodily harm if you comment on their appearance. Maybe you could work as a manager yourself one day."

Cecil shrugged. "I don't know. I rather enjoy being the voice behind the radio."

"Whatever you feel comfortable with. We can get a cat too, but I doubt it'll float." He smoothed Cecil's hair back, squinting at it. Cecil glanced up and noticed the scrutiny of Carlos's gaze, squirming a bit as his arm went to sleep.

"What are you staring at?" he asked.

"You."

"Why?"

Carlos broke away from staring, blinking and smiling slightly. "I was just checking something." As Cecil continued to look puzzled, he continued. "I was making sure you were real."

Cecil smiled and moved up to kiss him, saying something under his breath that Carlos didn't quite catch. He was internally laughing at the Council, long gone now, in a place where they couldn't harm either of them anymore.

Cecil wasn't fuzzy around the edges anymore. He was solid, real, and most importantly, his.


	18. The End of the Beginning

"I have an update on our situation with the stranger outside of town listeners. It appears that the man in the labcoat, torn, bloody, and covered in what may or may not have been vomit, has fallen to the Sherriff's Secret Police. After spending a week harassing citizens and hooded figures alike, the obviously disturbed individual collapsed of what may have been exhaustion.

"It's odd listeners, but I feel that we should take a moment of silence for this strange, almost handsome man. Is it because he reacted when I went out to interview him, trying to grab at my shirt like I was his only lifeline in our little desert community? It is odd that he should react to me this way and no others.

"The Sherriff's Secret Police have finished frisking the man's body, but have only found a Kansas City Public Library card with the name Carlos Ricardo signed on the back in blocky, faded penmanship. Possibly an heirloom from a forgotten past?

"It appears Station Management would like me to finish dwelling on our short lived visitor and wrap things up here so we can all go home, and I won't fight them on that. A memorial will not be held for this man as we do not know who he is, where he is from, why he is here, or if he completed his request for an untimely death paperwork. But do not fear dear citizens, as I am certain that none of us will ever endure the fate of this poor man. Instead, let the soft sounds of my voice take you into dreamless slumber so we may begin a new day fresh. Good night, Night Vale. Good night."

The microphone went off, and Cecil stood, weary from a long day of reporting. He set down the red envelope and picked up the library card on his desk instead, flipping it to look at the signature. Carlos Ricardo. Why did that name sound familiar? And why did his chest tighten at the thought of it?


	19. Almost Remembering

And with the reposted chapters complete, here is the first new one...

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Two months, three days, twenty one hours, and…fifteen minutes passed between the moment Cecil had seen the desert stranger shot and now. Now he was relaxing, loose and happy from a good show. He yawned. Ever since Strexcorp had bought out Station Management, he was the only one that hung about the station at this hour, working extra hours, pre-recording segments just in case…it wasn't like he had anything else to do. The radio was his life. Always had been, always would be.

What people didn't get was that Cecil was a nervous man. Anxious even. He loved people, but his brain didn't. Oh he could hide it well enough, but radio was one way for him to be useful to society and to _connect_. And with one of his ties to the community currently…somewhere only communicable via text message (sometimes) and the other having disappeared after Strexcorp's arrival, never to be heard from again, he didn't really have that safe barrier he usually needed to interact, except through the radio.

So he was here, idly rocking his chair back and forth, staring at the ceiling and wondering when he'd replaced that sagging mess of one he used to have. Maybe Daniel had done it as a gesture of friendship? No, that couldn't be right. Daniel could care less about personal comfort. Maybe it was a fan of his show, quite possibly a member of the Sherriff's Secret Police since there were things in his own apartment he couldn't remember getting. Nothing overtly obvious to passersby. A frying pan, a shirt that was too short and too wide for his frame.

"Okay, time to get home." He patted his comfortable chair with its back support and still-padded armrests before standing. One last stretch to make sure his spine was all in the right order, up and down, and he started off down the hall.

"Oh, Khoshekh, I'm leaving. Do you have enough water?" He stopped by the bathroom, nudging the door open with his elbow in case Daniel covered the door with deadly viruses again. He smiled at the sinuous form curled in the air, batting at a scrap of paper. "What have you got there? A new toy?"

Khoshekh meowed, turning to look at him as he stepped up, running his hand under the cat's back as he grabbed the paper. Except it was a photograph, and when he did, Khoshekh hiss and tried to claw at his wrist. "Stop that. I just want to look and you can have it back." He batted the top of the cat's head, watching him bob lightly.

The photograph had writing on the back that he elected to ignore as he flipped it over. Khoshekh had really done a number on the photo, licking and discoloring it badly, but he was still able to make out the figures. There was him, looking a bit sickly and very asleep, and then…

"The man from the desert?" He had to say it aloud so the thought would anchor in his mind long enough to understand. Weird, anything to do with this stranger just wanted to slip out of his head before he got a grasp on it. And it made his chest hurt. "Khoshekh, this is weird. Why does it look like we're on an airplane?" He lifted the photo to examine it more closely.

They _were_ on an airplane. Someone was taking the picture, presumably between the headrests of the seats in front of them. And the stranger was staring at Cecil, not the camera. No, not staring, looking. Gazing. He looked…concerned? Happy?

Cecil wiped at his eyes and jerked his hand away when he felt it get wet. Tears? Why was he crying? Why was that man staring at his photo-self like that? He blinked, breathing deeply until he was calm again, though it didn't make the ache in his chest and behind his eyes go away.

Khoshekh mewed, pawing at his hand for his toy back, but he didn't let go of the photograph. He squinted, trying to get the picture to stop pretending and tell Cecil its secrets. It didn't work. He just noticed the square jaw of the man was covered in stubble, istubble that had tickled when they kissed and Cecil had jokingly called sandpaper until he shaved, and Cecil realized how much he liked the texture./i

He tensed, muscles in his neck and hands spasming as he felt the memory, hallucination, whatever it was, slip away. He tried to chase after it, but he got other memories instead.

A warm pair of arms holding him tight. The smell of antiseptic and sweat and ozone, a tortured face as Carlos explained _I'm not normal, I wasn't born a man_. And that name, over and over, _Carlos, Carlos, Carlos_. He blinked, trying once again to stave off tears as he flipped the photograph over.

_::Carlos and I, NYC::_

And the library card, still in his wallet from that day two months, three days, twenty one hours and forty-five minutes ago. He dropped the photograph (it landed on the floor, outside of Khoshekh's lack of gravity), tugging his wallet out and ignoring as his Alert Citizen's Card fell out too. The name scrawled at the bottom, Carlos Ricardo.

_His_ Carlos.

"Khoshekh…I don't feel well," he said, slowly, choking on each word. His head burned horribly, and his throat was tightening. He was starting literally choke, unable to breathe through that knot welling up. It finally came out as a cry of pain, and he knelt, library card floating with Khoshekh because he took interest in it before it fell.

"Carlos!" Cecil pressed his head against the tiled floor, hands over his neck and curled up like an elementary school student during a tornado drill. The only storm was in his mind though, as he cried out again, wordless this time, just pure pain.

A man in a torn labcoat, coated with dust and blood, trying to grab onto his shirt.

No, a man in a labcoat, offering it to him after he spilled coffee on his tunic.

_I fell in love instantly_.

No, no, nononono! It hurt! Let the memories slip away, back into the blissful silence of reeducation, just leave them be. The truth hurt!

Guns, blood on the man's coat, fresh and bright under the desert sun.

_They shot him!_

No, he had lied. He always lied. It kept the people of Night Vale safe.

Carlos laughing. Carlos apologizing and sending him texts that said _xoxo_ at random points of the day because he was too focused on science for too long.

Blood on his shirt and in his mouth as he stared at Cecil from inside the warped ruins of a car.

Funny, he could taste blood now. And vomit. He could smell it too.

His stomach had dislodged the contents of his lunch while he'd been battling his mind, his face squished into the muck. The inside of his mouth tasted of iron from biting through his cheek. He sat up reluctantly, shaking, eyes still blurry with tears and smelling

_antiseptic, sweat, and ozone_

He whimpered, looking blindly at Khoshekh as he tried to hold onto those scraps of memories. Not hallucinations, some deep part of himself said, memories. Of a man who loved him.

"Carlos…"

Who could love him? Besides Josie and Dana, who could see past the persona and into the real Cecil, the one who got sweaty palms in high school when Earl asked him on a date, the one who still got sweaty palms (though partly with anticipation now) when asked to cover something from outside the recording booth.

"Cecil?"

He flinched when a soft pair of hands found his shoulders, and he looked up. It was…oh, he couldn't remember. An intern. Why?

"I tried calling you Cecil, when I saw your car was still here. What's wrong?"

He shook his head, looking away. He was limp as the intern pulled him up, wiping him down the best he could with some of the paper towels in the bathroom, There was a continuous stream of conversation from the talkative boy; something about being Cecil's biggest fan or something or another, but Cecil missed all of it.

He was only aware of his keys being fished out of his pocket and his shoes coming off. He didn't know where he was. Somewhere soft and cool, and alone, with a piece of paper stuck to his forehead.

No, the photograph.

He blinked and pulled it off his forehead. It was late now, the sun had been down for hours, and he was cold. He still smelled like vomit, and his cheek was throbbing dully with pain. This was his apartment.

He stared at the photograph, not really seeing it. He was stuck on his memories, the ones that were trying so hard to slip away.

"Carlos…I…I can't remember you but…I'll try." He let his arm fall to the side, forcing himself up to clean himself and change before going back to bed.

For the first time in his memory, it was too big for just one person.


	20. Lavender

Cecil didn't have to work the next morning, as Friday was delayed for two weeks. It was fine by him; he didn't feel up to leaving his tiny apartment just now. Instead, he pulled his cellphone close, if on vibrate, curled up on his side, and prayed to whoever was listening that he wouldn't throw up anymore.

The library card and the mostly ruined photograph were laying out next to his phone on the still made side of the bed. He picked up the photograph, looking over it for possibly the hundredth time.

Love. He had decided on that while he was showering last night. That was love in Carlos' face. It was so baffling that he couldn't remember, and when he tried, he felt sick until he let the memory slip away again.

"Come on Cecil. You're not dumb. You read (municipally approved) books and do things. Important things. Journalist things. It's your job to get at the bottom of things and report them." He went quiet for a minute. "Things. Things, things. Things things things. Wow, that doesn't sound right anymore." He sat up, running his hands through his hair until it resembled something a sane person would call bedhead.

He looked at the photograph more critically, thinking. The stranger, Carlos, popped up the day after his latest reeducation. He pressed his hand against his forehead unconsciously, rubbing where the gray stripe in his hair had appeared. His head hurt if he tried to remember the days before his arrival too quickly, a side effect of reeducation. He had other painful memory gaps too.

And then Carlos had died a week later, when he tried to go out and interview him. But that didn't make sense. He had been extremely weak and moved like he was in pain. And those layers – he shouldn't have lived more than a couple of days out in the intense heat of the desert. Cecil chewed on his lip, looking at the library card again. It was pretty useless, having expired ten years. He started to throw it further out on the bed when he noticed something.

The ink was smudged. He leaned in closer, squinting. There was another name under it, written in even shakier handwriting, faded and smudged to the point that it had needed to written over. He couldn't make out the name though, just that there was another 'C'.

Well, it was still useless until he could figure out how to see the name. He threw it aside, grabbing his phone. Dana would know what to do, right?

_::Dana, can you text? I have a problem.::_

It took some time to get a reply. He was eating breakfast when his phone buzzed.

_::Are you finally going to tell me what happened to Carlos?::_

He dropped his phone like it had stung him, staring as it hit the floor, popping the battery out in the process. How did _she_ know? Once he was certain his phone wasn't going to dissolve into some sort of mechanical beast brought about by a exhaustion fueled nightmare, he picked it up and gingerly put it back together.

The text was still waiting, its message inexorable on the tiny glowing screen.

_::You know who Carlos is?::_ His hand shook as he hit send.

Time wasn't on his side though, as it was a matter of seconds before he got a reply, still chewing on an orange.

_::You don't remember him, do you Cecil? They've reeducated you too much.::_

_::I think I remember a man named Carlos, at least a little. Tell me about him?::_

_::You loved him Cecil. And he loved you. Go to the old labs next to Big Rico's. Talk to the girl if she's still there. Outsiders can't be reeducated.::_

Cecil didn't know how to reply to that, so he just said 'thanks, talk later' and shut his phone off again so he could clean up and think.

Love again. He had loved Carlos? That was…that was strange. He remembered loving once. At least he had thought it was love. But then he got so thoroughly wrapped up in his work that he forgot about him. He had forgotten about his family. He'd forgotten everything. And he'd forgotten Carlos too. For a little while at least.

Maybe he had wanted to forget everything. Had he? Was he running away from his problems, playing the grown up with the perfect life? Well, his life wasn't perfect. He was constantly being reeducated as a punishment, and his life was as much in threat as the casual Night Valian. But…he was happy. It wasn't a perfect life. But it was good. And he wasn't lonely.

He _wasn't._

He took a second shower, dressing carefully for the day. He should just go down to the radio station and make sure everything was all right with Khoshekh. He wasn't going to explore the Carlos mystery any further.

So why was he walking the opposite way? He wasn't hungry, and he'd already had his pizza slice of the week. He stopped outside the small, rather plain looking building that he usually ignored.

The labs. What had they been before? Just…labs. He had assumed they were part of the school, though why was beyond him. His memory was trying to slide around it anyway, meaning it was probably from reeducation.

_Or you're trying to make up excuses._

Shaking his head slightly, he walked forward, pushing the door in and looking about with wide eyes. "Hello?" What was he doing? Was he an idiot? "Anyone home?" Get out now Cecil. Reclaim your old life. It was a good one.

"Cecil?" He was only in the front room, staring at some desks and a counter with various bottles. An empty desk. It looked lonely, abandoned by someone. There was still a labcoat draped over the back. He looked up when he heard footsteps and had to blink.

_Trisha, normally called Trish,_ the annoying voice that'd been needling him since the text message helpfully filled in. She was staring at Cecil with the most awkwardly shocked expression on her face. It looked ridiculous considering her goggles, but she pushed them up onto her forehead, and the next thing he knew, he was in a tight embrace.

"H-hello." He tried to pat her back lightly, but that tightened her grip, so his arms hung limply at his sides until she pulled away.

"I'm sorry." She sniffed and looked aside, hurriedly wiping her eyes. "It's just…he's been gone for so long, and you…you…" She shook her head. "I was warned not to go to you or the Sherriff's Secret Police would come and reeducate me despite my status as a non-citizen."

He nodded slightly. "So it's not a good thing, my being here. I should leave." He turned to do so, garnering an iron grasp on his wrist.

"Before you go, he'd want you to have something." She tugged him to the lonely desk, unlocking a drawer and pulling out a slim laptop. A trickle of memory, San Diego, filtered through Cecil's mind and faded just as quickly. "Here. The password, well, the password is mitochondria." She smiled a bit, shaking her head slightly. "He was always a bit of a dork."

Cecil didn't know what to do but take the laptop, so he did, holding it like a plate. "I – did you know him very well?" he finally ventured to ask, voice soft.

Trish nodded shortly. "We went to school together. I think that now…with everyone gone…it's just not worth being here anymore. Carlos was the heart and soul of this project. He really, really wanted to learn about Night Vale. And without him, with it just me," She shrugged slightly. "It's not really the same. You know?"

"I suppose. Everyone has to move on, right? The past is done, no use lingering." He forced a smile, dropping his eyes to the labcoat.

_The coat that always smelled like lavender detergent_.

He shook his head again, shaking off the chill that followed the scraps of memory. "Anyway, um, thank you Trisha. I'll…just be going now." He stepped to leave.

"Do you want the coat?" He froze and looked back at Trish, quietly confused. She sighed and smiled sadly, pulling the coat off the back of the chair. "I saw you looking. And it's rather big for memory. Maybe you'd like to keep it as a memento."

She didn't know. That he couldn't, or didn't want to, remember. She must not listen to his show, he decided, taking the coat without a word. And he turned, and he left, walking back the way he came. He could remember nothing about Trish other than her name, and that didn't bother him. What did was the coat. With it in his arms, he could smell the detergent. It wasn't lavender. It smelled just like what he used at the apartment.


	21. The Laptop

Cecil left the laptop alone for three days, burying himself in his work and in a side quest to see if he could get into Josie's house. Turned out he couldn't because the black void was still in its place. Not even a towering column looming in a vaguely threatening way over the town, more like a black bubble. It was complicated. Cecil tried to describe it on air, only to find when he listened to his own broadcast it had been censored over with the screams of the undead.

He found himself on the roof of the radio station again at some point too, glaring at Daniel and refusing to come down. It helped that he sort of couldn't. He had accidentally kicked the ladder away and the resulting vertigo made him stay very, very far from the edge of the roof.

Most of him forgot the laptop existed, wrapped up in the labcoat and shoved in the very furthest corner under his bed. But there was one small part the pestered at him in his dreams or when he wasn't focused on some important task. He was having trouble sleeping at this point. How could he not? Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the same thing.

Carlos, bleeding, half thrown out Cecil's old car.

Carlos, grabbing at him in the desert as he tried to get an interview.

Carlos laughing at something and smiling so broadly, something deep inside Cecil _twisted_ and sent pain throughout the whole of his chest.

Carlos…dying. Looking at Cecil and collapsing.

And he'd wake up and find the taste of blood in his mouth again, his pillow damp and eyes crusty. The memories weren't just slipping away either. He found it easier and easier to hold the memories, turn them over, try to link them together.

After three days, he picked up the laptop and coat, tucking the photograph and library card in it. Then it went back under the bed.

He went through his week, covering the infestation of cats in downtown, how literacy rates were going up amongst the tarantula population, and Water Drains: Are They Important? Maybe? We're…Not Really Sure Down Here at the Station. It was a busy week to say the least, especially since he was avoiding texting Dana and not so successfully avoiding Daniel.

"Something bothering you Cecil?"

He looked up from where he'd been counting change, blinking blearily. Rico was handing him a small box with three slices of cheese and mustard, his favorite currently. After a moment, he shook his head slightly. "Oh nothing. I'm just a bit tired Rico. Thanks for asking." He mustered a slight smile as he handed over the money. Don't forget. If you don't have exact change while out shopping tomorrow, the hooded figures are allowed to place your name in a lottery for the biannual bloodstone festival and sacrifice. As exciting a time that always is, and as great an honor that'd be, I'd rather you not get put into the lottery."

"I'll keep that in mind. Honestly Cecil, I'm not sure how the town could hold itself together without you. Get some rest, okay?" Rico handed over the pizza so he could help with the next customer, taking their order with the same infinite patience a wise old bartender might have had in a different tale. But this is Night Vale, not Hollywood. We don't promote alcoholism here except on Tuesdays and Fridays with blue moons.

Cecil decided not to go home, not with that small voice in his head getting louder than ever. He didn't want to go to work either. Lately, old Station Management had been heard grumbling in their office (even Daniel had refused to go into the office), and who knew what they did after hours now? He set up a path to nowhere, pulling a slice out to chew on as he deliberately cleared his thoughts.

The town seemed to twist about him (not that he was actually paying that close of attention), leading him to a particular place. The abandoned waterfront, to be exact. It was a bit worn down now, graffiti in the corners and under the boardwalk. He walked to the edge of the warped dock and sat down, kicking his legs and watching lights dance in the night sky.

He could almost pretend that the seemingly endless stretch of sand was the ocean, he realized as he set aside the pizza, pulling off his shoes and hopping off the dock to walk around barefoot. The sand was still warm from the day, though not burning hot to his soles. He wondered briefly if Carlos (it was hard to call him the desert stranger anymore, not that he realized) had shoes on when he died. He honestly couldn't remember, and that bothered him now. He was a journalist; he should remember these things.

He curled his toes in the sand, peeking under the dock to see if there was anything of note. There was a glimmer of something reflecting moonlight, so out of curiosity and journalistic integrity, Cecil dropped to his knees, crawling into the gap made narrow by months of sandstorms, wind, and general weather. Once he got in place, he could see that the sand had shifted over the shiny object since it had been put there. Or dropped, as the case may be.

Turned out the shiny object was actually a metal wallet, the type advertised as keeping credit card information safe. It was a bit scratched and dinged up, but still usable, as Cecil found out when he pushed the button and it flew open, depositing a few cards and other items in his lap and sand. He picked everything up quickly, noticing the bills were well worn, and the only cards were a debit card, a driver's license, and a Night Vale Public Library card. There were a couple of photographs too, so he ignored the cards in favor for these.

There was once of a big family, obviously old. Cecil found himself grinning as he stared at the parents, looking a bit stressed and relieved that the photo was being taken, a grumpy little boy with wild curls, and two girls, both in yellow frills. One was a baby, still in her mother's arms, but the second had a cut on her cheek still healing. It reminded him a bit of Tamika, though if Tamika had ever worn a dress in her life, it probably didn't last long. It certainly wouldn't now.

The second photograph was well creased from being folded to fit inside the narrow wallet. He shook it out, blinked, and groaned. "I should've known. Of course it's your wallet! It's like the town doesn't want me to forget!" He threw the wallet and picture away, scowling at the night sky through the cracks in the docks. It didn't take long before he went and gathered the wallet up, looking at the picture again.

It was a shot from the radio's Christmas party last year. Cecil's glasses were askew as he tugged Carlos down for a kiss. Carlos hadn't been expecting it, it seemed, if his wide eyes were any indication. But he kept the photograph, and the lump in his throat and the sudden hot flash underneath his shirt showed that the gesture obviously affected him.

He shoved his face into his hands, groaning. "Why are you torturing me this way? I just want to forget. Is that so bad?" When there wasn't an answer, even from that pesky part of him that enjoyed making snide remarks, he stamped his feet against the ground. "You know what? Fine! I'll look at that stupid laptop and show everyone once and for all that it doesn't matter! Okay? Okay!" He crawled out, clutching at the wallet. He pulled his shoes on but left the pizza for any hungry animals to eat. He was scowling all the way home too, which was a surprisingly short walk considering the waterfront was supposed to be outside of town proper.

He slammed his door shut, locking it for the first time in ages before dropping to his knees and pulling out the laptop and labcoat. The smell of his detergent hit him briefly, but he threw the coat aside and booted up the laptop. Luckily, its battery was almost full and the password Trish had given him worked, so it wasn't long before he was staring at a desktop of the night sky, sans the lights, and wondering where to begin. As he stared, a notice popped up in the corner.

_::George's birthday tomorrow – Call him::_

Oh, a calendar? He hit the notice before it could fad away and found himself in the middle of a meticulously organized calendar. It was even color coded! Carlos must've been a particular man.

As he scrolled through the past events, he noticed a trend. The lab work was all in green, and frequently it was cut short by pink – which turned out to be "personal". He went further back and found almost no pink for a full year, when suddenly it was there once a week, three times a week, almost every day. There was blue too – medical – and once he found out how to decipher the shorthand Carlos used, he was able to read that he had to take shots once a week. How odd. The blue started overtaking pink and green nearly one month before Cecil remembered watching him die. How odd, he thought, minimizing the tab and deciding to go through the documents. He turned on the lamp too, not wanting to strain his eyes too badly in the dark.

There were several folders; did this man have to be so anal about everything? Cecil let out a huff, clicking on "Night Vale" first. A series of documents met his eyes, and he opened on titled "Clocks" out of curiosity. It was a PDF of a typed document with plenty of convoluted terminology and graphs that baffled Cecil. The last page had a handwritten note in the same handwriting as had been found on the library card. It said simply: time doesn't work right here. Further investigation resulted in losing a day and a half without even a black out. Continued research unadvised.

Cecil read through a few more files before getting bored and clicking out again. There were other folders too, one marked "Personal" and another marked "Photographs". Photographs yielded at least seven sub folders, and Personal two, so it was easy to decide which.

He almost regretted his actions. The first sub folder proved to be full of medical files for Carlos himself. Notes on some sort of surgery – a quick Google search showed it to be about removing female breasts and changing the downstairs bits. He scanned, not really caring that this was someone's life. Carlos insisted on staying in his head, so it was his right to invade the dead man's privacy. All this led him to conclude that Carlos was born female and didn't like it. And he couldn't afford the surgeries he wanted. When he looked at the next folder, which included a yearly budget, he saw that he could barely afford those weekly shots. He felt a little guilt then, just a jerk in the stomach region.

_If I had known I'd…_ He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away quickly. He was being a journalist. Just an impartial journalist.

So when he finally looked through the photographs sub folders, he was in for a nasty shock.

Carlos had documented his life in Night Vale just as meticulously as he ordered his laptop files. And Cecil was in his life, a lot. Everything was time stamped too, so he pulled the calendar open and checked things against each other. At first, the photographs showed research material, though he caught a glimpse of himself grinning from ear to ear and looking directly at the camera, or the man behind it. Then, as the pink on the calendar increased, the photographs grew more and more personal. Dates, a few early morning shots in what Cecil recognized as his apartment (including the two of them asleep), a few shots of the night sky. He found the picture Khoshekh ruined too, and he found himself staring at it intently, focus going blurry.

No, he was just crying again.

Because each picture was a little jolt of memory. He could remember the way Carlos tasted after they attempted to cook Japanese food. He remembered waking up and seeing a cheap digital camera pointed his way, only for him to offer poses that made Carlos nearly drop the thing and stammer his way to the bathroom.

He remembered Carlos' obsession over clocks, idly touching the wristwatch he still wore.

Another folder, marked "Progress" nearly made him choke, and not just with shock.

He had been right about Carlos not being born in the right body.

The pictures started from before his memory (no matter how hard he strained his mind). There was no grey in Carlos's hair yet, his face unlined from age and worry. He was only topless, uncomfortably posing with a needle Cecil guessed contained the testosterone he read about and only vaguely remembered (Carlos would slip out of bed despite Cecil's protests, disappearing for a bit before returning to the impatient radio host's arms). He…well, he was very buxom. Cecil could feel his shame rising, feeling more than certain Carlos wouldn't have wanted him to see these. He closed the tab before he looked any further, staring mindlessly at a PDF he forgot to close.

_I'd like to resign from this research team due to personal reasons._

Personal reasons. The pink blocks in the calendar. The photos. He shut the laptop, leaning forward to grind the palms of his hands into his eyes.

He didn't want to admit it. He couldn't think it, let alone say it. But…he had been those pink blocks, hadn't he?

_Cecil, I'm calling for personal reasons._

The half remembered voice made his heart jump and his throat ache with unreleased pain. Carlos, oh Carlos. He let out a choked noise.

Numbness was much preferred. He didn't want to know the truth. Things were hard enough with Daniel and Strexcorp breathing down his neck. Did he really need this too? But why had his memories been altered for him to forget Carlos? Was it a kindness, to keep him from grieving? He had died after all…

No. The Sherriff's Secret Police had shot him. He hadn't just died. He…he had been murdered. Cecil got up, wrapping the laptop up with the wallet and tucking it all back into place before grabbing his cellphone. It took him a moment to calm down enough to decide. Could he do this?

_::Dana, why did the SSP kill Carlos?::_

The answer came while he was getting ready for bed.

_::I don't know. Have you tried the library?::_


	22. Tamika Flynn

Tamika Flynn was not an easy girl to find. In fact, without Dana helping, she would've been impossible as Cecil wouldn't have thought to look through the abandoned subway tunnels. And most of all, he wouldn't have expected to find her at the subway entrance so close to the station, where Daniel and his cronies seemed to always live now.

Actually, she had found him stumbling around in the dark, carefully avoiding the third rail as it might be live still, even now, months and months after the project was finally shelved. That fateful ride…he wished he could get back on a car and just never return to this dratted town and his equally damnable memories.

His flashlight's beam was a thin yellow thing that seemed quite eager to die out at the slightest provocation. And die it did, much to his vexation, in the middle of a particularly frustrating shaft. He started shaking the cheap plastic, trying to get the batteries to work. "Come on you. I have to work in three hours, and I don't think they'll take "got lost in the subway" as an excuse, especially since I'm not supposed to be here."

A beam of blue-white light (the sort you find from LED lights and not the cheap bulb that used to light Cecil's way) blinded him quite thoroughly; he looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of it and was immediately incapable of seeing anything except angry red spots against the pinkish glow of his eyelids. "Funny. Haven't seen many talking rats down here, and you're awfully big for a rat. Too poorly dressed too." The beam was finally lowered from his face, and he rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly. Everything was too dark now, but he recognized that voice.

"Tamika, I'm most certainly not a rat," he said, a bit disgruntled at being called one. The flashlight bobbed and was shoved into his chest, hard. The edges felt oddly sharp. He stumbled back, hands in the air. "Hey! I'm not going to drag you to Strexcorp! I hate them as much as the next person."

"Had to make sure you weren't fake. That's happened down here a lot. It happened in the library too, but with the story characters coming to life. I don't know if the subways can bring a voice to life or not." As Cecil's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he was able to just make out Tamika. Her eyes and teeth were white in the dark, catching and reflecting her flashlight's light as she spoke. The outline of her hair was as frizzy as ever, but that was about all he could see. Tamika was almost literally a shadow in the dark tunnels. "What're you doing here?" The flashlight jabbed him again, and he realized he had missed important conversation.

"Why? I was looking for you." He saw the flashlight jerk forward and he jumped back, hands up again. "Tamika, I'm not going to turn you in! I need your help."

"My help?" She sounded incredulous, and her flashlight pointed towards the ceiling as she crossed her arms. He could see the gnarled hand in the crook of her elbow, probably still tied with a bit of string nicked from school. "What on earth does Cecil Gershwin Palmer, the Voice of Night Vale, need my help for?"

He tried not to twitch at his middle name (the name that he hadn't remembered he had until recently). Instead, he put on his best smile and left his hands up by his head. "I need to get in the library."

"The library?"

He nodded. "I want to know why the Sherriff's Secret Police would shoot Carlos."

There was a moment of silence, then the flashlight swung down and out, away from Cecil. "Come on then. I'll get you in the library. Though I'm not sure what you're looking for. And the librarians are going to be nasty with those yellow freaks hanging about."

He hesitated anyway before stumbling after her quickly. "Why are you helping me?"

She didn't answer for a long time, and when she did, her voice was quiet. He nearly didn't hear her over his stumbling. "Because he was my friend too. Lent me some of his textbooks from school to read."

That sent a jolt through Cecil and he hurried forward, hand on her shoulder before he could think, before he could remember. "You knew Carlos? What can you tell me abou – " he started to saying, completely earnest, but then that flashlight blinded him _again_ for a split second before it cam crashing down on his hand, digging into the thin bit of flesh and fat there. He cried out in pain and jerked his hand away, stopping to cradle it.

"Don't touch me Palmer," Tamika said coolly, starting down the tunnel once more. She had barely stopped to attack him. "It's your fault that he's dead."

"My…fault?" He followed, still cradling his throbbing hand. He was pretty certain it was bleeding.

"Yes. Your fault. His death, and the deaths of many of our citizens. All your fault. I don't know how you can stand yourself. Your lips drip with their blood."

"I…I don't know what you're talking about." They were passing a station now, the light greyer than it was in the tunnels, the dark a bit less oppressive. He took a deep breath. The air was dryer here, fresher since it could vent. He could see Tamika better too. She had her schoolbag, torn and beaten and smeared with dirt, but it couldn't quite hide the bright pattern it originally had. Her hair was done in pigtails, and one of her socks (she wore shorts) was torn, the other shoved down nearly into her shoe. She had a couple of band aids on her elbows, but she mostly just looked dirty. He pitied her for a moment before he remembered his hand and looked down at the angry red mark nearly in the middle of it. His pity vanished. Tamika was young, that was certain, but she was to be feared, not pitied.

"Of course you don't. They want to keep you stupid, and you let them do it. Because you're craven. And Carlos died trying to save you." She made a noise of disgust. Or so he thought until she spat on the third rail and listened to the sizzle. "I could kill you now in revenge."

"I don't think that'd be very fitting of Carlos," Cecil said timidly, inching away from the rail and giving Tamika a bit more space. There was no way in all of heaven, earth, or hell, he'd make the mistake of touching her again. "From what little I remember, he wasn't that sort of man."

"No, he wasn't, and more's to pity. He was a fool staying and getting you when he could've escaped." The fight was out of her voice, leaving it hollow.

Cecil was thankful for the silence that followed, though there was something niggling at him. "What does craven mean?" he finally asked, only to get the flashlight in his eyes again.

"Cowardly, lily-livered, faint-hearted, spineless, timid, timorous, fearful, weak, feeble, contemptible, abject, gutless, or in this case in particular, absolutely and incredibly useless. Now shut up and follow me. The subway was a secret entrance to the library this way."

He followed reluctantly, wondering if his stomach really was twisting up so uncomfortably and if his entrails were rebelling so badly if they would just kill him and be done with it. It was bad enough when he got angry at himself for being a useless coward. This was worse. He liked Tamika, he remembered. Rooted for her in the summer, then again when Strexcorp came and declared her missing.

He maybe even sort of looked up to her. A bit. Metaphorically.

It was a bit like finding out your hero was a racist or a homophobe. Or a racist homophobe. It kind of hurt.

Tamika didn't care or notice when he fell silent, jumping the rail after a couple hundred feet and going to a door. At least, he learned it was a door when he nearly ran into it, smashing his glasses up his nose. She had put out the flashlight and started up a narrow flight of steps. "You have to be absolutely quiet Palmer. They shouldn't be stirring too much from the front door." Tamika disappeared in front of Cecil. He couldn't see in the black at all, and she was quieter than a hobbit from a fantasy book. She might as well not exist.

Meanwhile, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to make no sound with his feet or breath. The staircase seemed to last for ages, but time didn't seem to work in Night Vale from Carlos' notes, so it's quite possible that it did last longer. Tamika paused, and he hit her backpack before backing off as silently as he could manage. A thin crack of light highlighted a strip of Tamika's face, her dark eye blinking in the light as it adjusted and judged. She glanced at Cecil, caught him watching, and gestured him to follow as the door opened on well-oiled hinges.

Cecil stepped through and blinked when he found himself standing in the children's section of the library, dust floating in the fluorescent lit air. Tamika glared at him arms crossed and cradling that hand again, raising her eyebrows and jerking her head slightly. He nodded, swallowing thickly, and started walking.

He was glad Tamika had gotten him in, to be sure, but he was uncertain if she was willing to help him fight if they ran into a librarian or if the girl would leave him for her revenge. He was hyper aware of his surroundings as he started through the shelves, freezing when he thought he heard movement, heart in his throat. It was just the air conditioner though, and it clicked to life, sending the dust spinning in its currents.

From the children's section he braved the romances, then the historical fiction. It was close to the front, all too close to the librarians' desk, that he needed to be, and that was in the Night Vale archive. It held a tome that covered the laws of the town, as well as the SSP's credence, and their personal laws and the like. He made it, peeking through the towers of books at the desk.

A librarian was sitting there, looking through her catalogue with the practiced ease of a veteran. She was twisted, all the color sucked out of her, bun tied so tightly it was impossible to believe she still had hair and that it hadn't been ripped entirely out of her scalp. Her back was to them for the moment, and that was a relief. He took the tome and nodded to Tamika, who turned and started for the children's section again. It was close to their escape and the furthest from the desk.

He sat in a beanbag cautiously, aware of the shifting of the foam beads inside as he started to flip through the book. His knees were at an awkward angle, nearly above his head, not that he minded. He soon found the laws of exile, pausing to skim.

_Outsiders…presumed guilty until innocent…assault or kidnapping of the Voice is a crime punishable by Death…so long as proper paperwork is filed, not considered a murder..._

He paused and reread the part where the Voice, he, was mentioned. Then he checked the copyright. There was none; the book had been handbound by the original Council and added on over the years until is was forgotten by all but the librarians. But the part with the Voice was old, the ink faded and the paper yellowed. So surely they weren't talking about him.

He struggled to stand, making a bit too much noise in the process. It drew Tamika from the shelves, and he noticed that her backpack looked a bit fuller than before. That made him grin. Of course she was a bookworm. He pressed the book against his chest, nodding slightly to her. At least he started too, but then his attention was diverted away and to the right. There was the sound of footsteps.

Tamika heard them too, and her face hardened as she turned to face the threat. She motioned for Cecil to get behind her, and he did, forgetting the exit in his fear. She pulled out a knife, waiting.

The librarian who appeared from the stacks was nearly identical to the first, but she was darker, like a piece of black paper left out in the sun for too long. She scowled when she saw Tamika, a handless sleeve flapping at the girl as she snarled, jagged teeth sending a bolt of fear through Cecil. _Now_ he remembered the door and as Tamika threw her knife at the towering old woman creature, he bolted, knocking Tamika's arm in his desperation. He felt or thought he felt cold grasping fingers with untrimmed nails at his throat, but it didn't matter. He was at the door and through it, running down, down, down into the belly of the earth, away from those horrid things, as far and fast as he could get.

He was at the subway station from before when he stopped to catch his breath. And that's when the guilt washed over him. He was a coward, craven, whatever. He had just left a young girl on her own to face against a monster she didn't have to. All because he wanted to soothe the half memories and forget them. He kicked at the wall and cursed as he hopped up and down on one foot, rubbing his toes through his shoe. There was no choice. He had to go back.

Of course, Cecil had barely gotten thirty steps into the tunnel when Tamika came out of it, her face bloody, shirt torn, expression a mix of triumph and anger. She caught sight of Cecil and it became pure loathing.

She didn't have to say a word. She stalked past him and to the station, pulling herself up and sitting on the edge to rifle around her backpack. He followed, head bowed.

"I'm sorry."

He got a grunt in response as she dug out a small first aid kit, rolling her short sleeve up to look at the wound.

"I really am Tamika. I shouldn't have left you." He was close enough for her to kick, and he found himself watching her sneakered feet very carefully.

"No you shouldn't have. I hope you found what you wanted in that book of yours. The librarians took my trophy away." He blinked and stared at her in confusion until it clicked. Her hand was gone, just a brown string around her neck with a loop from the wrist left in its place.

"No…I'm afraid I've got more questions that I don't think this book can answer." He looked down at the tome and made a face. What was it bound in anyway? The thought made his skin crawl at the possibilities. He focused on Tamika instead.

"Try the Council then." She moved on to her nose, not flinching as she cleaned the wound.

That sent another shiver down his spine. "I don't think I can go to them. Or the Sheriff's Secret Police. They're the ones in charge of reeducation. They did something, I just know it." He rubbed at his forehead until he got a shoe in his chest for his trouble.

"They're not the only ones here that record information." Tamika was glaring at him again, hot pink bandage over her nose. Cecil just gaped at her and got another kick in the chest for that too. "Are you really so dumb?" He continued to just look at her as his mind ticked frantically through every group he could think of in Night Vale.

In Night Vale…

"Strex!" he blurted, receiving a patronizing grin from Tamika.

"Very good Palmer. Maybe you'd like a treat. How about you go ask the librarians for a sucker. If you're very nice and don't scream too much, they might even let you keep your head," she said in baby-talk, voice high and condescending. It put Cecil off, and he frowned, looking away.

"Strexcorp is based in Desert Bluffs though, isn't it? I don't know how to get through." He got a hard shove from Tamika's foot then, sending him sprawling, book falling a few feet away.

"That's your problem, not mine," she declared in her normal voice, though her chin was raised sharply and she was staring at him like one would a worm. "I got you into the library. Now do me a favor and get out before Strexcorp sends its men looking for their Voice. And don't tell anyone where I'm at."

"Of course not. I don't think anyone fancies getting baked over the rails," he grumbled, pushing back to his feet and dusting himself off. "Thank you Tamika for all your help," he added in a more normal tone, trying and failing to smile.

"I don't want your bloodied words," she snapped, standing. "Don't come looking for me again unless you want to die." She started off, still silent despite him quite clearly seeing her moving. He watched her for a minute before turning again and starting the long walk to the station outside the radio station.

That was where he heard that another sandstorm was coming.


	23. Sandstorm

Cecil entered the hospital, head throbbing. He rubbed where it hurt the worst, and pulled his hand away sticky with bright red blood. None of this made sense.

Carlos was supposed to be here! And he wasn't, how could he possibly find him now? This hospital was too big and grotesque; everything was white, white, sometimes seafoam green. And why seafoam green? It was such a nice, unassuming color, a perfect neutral for a condo on sale.

"Carlos!"

_Why are you so worried about Carlos when you ought to be worried about…yourself?_

Cecil turned, wiping blood out of his eyes again. He saw his mirror self with blacked out eyes and screamed.

He woke up in his own bed, tangled in the sheets and sweat running down his back like he'd just spent the night in a sauna. He stared about blankly before recognizing his own apartment and flopping back with a grunt and sigh. He had wrenched his back in his sleep and now it ached. He kicked weakly at the sheets and sighed, burying his face in his pillow. He wanted to scream some more, but there was just no energy behind it. Maybe he should go to a bloodstone circle…no, those were illegal now.

His alarm clock read three in the morning, not that it mattered all that much. It was probably wrong. It nearly always was, whereas his wristwatch was usually extremely accurate. He sat up more slowly, body screaming out to just stay in bed. A warm shower would get the physical part to shut up at least.

His phone started ringing while he was in the shower, but he didn't rush to get out, enjoying the warm spray across his tense muscles and distracting himself from his usually buzzing thoughts. When he got out, he didn't bother with a towel, just picking up the phone and calling the station back.

"Hello?" It was Lauren. So peppy, so happy, about a sixty percent chance she was a robot. The other forty was split between absolutely clueless about Strex's residual evilness and possibly a psychopath.

"It's Cecil Lauren. Did you call? I'm not late." He picked up his wristwatch. "It's actually three in the morning?"

"Yes, it's actually three in the morning. We need you here. Now Cecil." Her usual pep was gone in favor of whole hearted sharpness.

"Why?" If she was going to be rude and call him in the middle of the night, then he was going to be just as rude back.

"The sandstorm's coming."

"Again?" His voice was surprisingly calm as he stood to get dressed. He was on autopilot now, dressing and thinking idly of the gun currently hidden under his bed. He knelt to fish the firebox out, withdrawing it.

"Again. We need you here at the station to talk the town through it. Again." Even though the phone was tucked between his ear and bare shoulder – he was wearing pants and checking that his gun was loaded – he was finding it hard to focus on her voice.

"Right, well, what if I don't want to?" He could stay, board his windows and his block the door, but that didn't feel right. He'd done enough sitting around, but radio was something he was good at. And he did actually help, at least a little bit.

"Cecil, you _have _to do it. The town won't listen to me or Daniel."

And for good reason, Cecil thought grouchily. Pain was settling in again, somewhere in between his shoulder blades that he couldn't quite stretch out. "All right, I'll be there soon. I'm walking." He didn't give her a chance to reply, tossing the phone lightly onto the bed before he finished dressing. The gun went into its holster and on his pants. He grabbed a jacket just in case. It was usually cold in the station.

Considering what had happened during the last sandstorm, he didn't want to be caught unawares again. As he left his complex, he looked at the dark and empty streets, frowning slightly. It was unsettling. Usually there was at least a hooded figure floating about. He kept walking, gun bouncing against his hip uncomfortably while he attempted to braid his hair back. White strands kept falling into his face and he blew them away huffily.

It was cool now, so he walked slowly, watching the lights above Arby's. They seemed dimmer than normal; maybe they knew the sandstorm was coming too.

_Holding hands, sitting on the hood of Carlos' car and quiet isolated words. He could smell the blood and astringent from the bandage on the others' head and hands. So torn, so bloody._

He froze, coughing on the smell of iron. He rubbed his forehead as the spike of pain from his back moved up into his head. These memory fragments were getting worse. He knew all sorts of little things about Carlos now: he wore a labcoat a lot, didn't like Cecil's furry pants, tended to nick himself shaving, fell asleep during Westerns. He knew one or two big things too: Carlos wasn't born a man _but he was one_. But none of these little and big facts really answered why it hurt so much to think about him, physically and emotionally. It didn't tell him why Carlos was killed or out in the desert to begin with.

But that wasn't important right now. The sandstorm was coming, and quite probably so was that awful, awful man.

The reason he was carrying the gun. His nightmare had brought it all back, the man that looked somewhat like him but solid black eyes going to strangle him with a grin on his face. He shuddered, pulling the jacket on for an extra layer of protection.

The station was buzzing with activity when he got there. Usually people were more respectful of station management, he found himself thinking, shooting the darkened door a sympathetic look. Whatever station management was, it had yet to leave its office. Lauren and Daniel were set up in an empty recording room, and they saw him as he tried to sneak by.

"Cecil!"

He winced and turned. "Hello. I'm here as you asked." He didn't make any effort to walk into the small room, just staring at them staring at him through the open door. Lauren smiled and stood to leave the room.

"I'm glad you're here Cecil. I'm sorry for the late hour, but we've gotten a few phone calls expressing panic, and the City Council insisted that you needed to come in just to give out information."

"Yes, right, well, it's as you said. I care about the town." He pulled away from the woman. Despite the lateness of the hour, she looked immaculate. Even Daniel was a bit ruffled up, a black cord snaking from under his shirt to the wall. "I should just do my show, right?"

"Right. Just do what you always do." Lauren followed him to his booth but when she didn't enter, he took it as invitation to shut the door in her face as he prepared. His laptop turned on easily enough, and his headphones were snug against his ears. He sighed, feeling tired all at once.

The on air sign glowed a comforting red, and he pulled his laptop closer to read his notes. "Good morning Night Vale. If you're listening right now, you're probably just as aware as I about the impending sandstorm threatening our fair town. Well, there is no need for alarm. We survived the last one, did we not? And with minimal casualties too, might I add." He took in a deep breath. "Strexcorp would like to suggest for you to unveil your mirrors and – " He paused, frowning. "Leave your doors and windows…unlocked…"

This wasn't right. The doubles could be coming back, and if they did, this left the citizens vulnerable to attack. "Dear listeners, I believe there has been a…clerical error of some sort. It should say to cover your mirrors, bolt and shutter your windows and doors. Stay inside. And if you see your double, either run away and hide or kill them." He heard a thumping on the window and hardly dared to peek. Lauren and Daniel were there, looking furious. "Just a second listeners."

He took off his headphones and rolled over to lock the door, feeling very unsafe in his tiny recording booth. But maybe he could escape later, when they decided to shut off his show. He went back to the mike. "I seem to be locked in my booth for the time being, but all the more reason to continue to talk to you through this difficult time." He closed his eyes, feeling a warmth ease the ache in his back and muscles, relaxing him. He loved his job. "The sandstorm is making its way past the waterfront. If the clock tower is still on East Street, it shall soon be bearing the brunt of the storm." He could almost feel the town, its roads veins and arteries, ferrying life to and from its vital functions. Right now it was listless, sick with dread of the sandstorm and what if possibly brought. "Do not panic Night Vale. We are safe. We will as always rise above the problems at hand. It is simply what we do."

He spoke at length about invisible corn and the possible effects the sandstorm could have on them, and was in the middle of a lengthy discussion with himself about what the owners of the Pinkberry could do if the glow cloud decided to drop an elephant on their establishment for refusing to serve it due to the sandstorm when two things happened.

First, the station lost power.

That wasn't bad, as Lauren was still at his window, watching him as Daniel tried to fiddle with the circuit boards to shut him down (joke was on him; Cecil had created a backup ages ago with help from…his brain tried to stutter and ache but eventually spit out the name _Carlos_).

The second was a very familiar and unwelcome sound.

"Listeners, the vortex is back." He felt a mixture of terror and awe. Even though he had an idea of what was on the other side, he still felt drawn to the thing. "Dear listeners, I think…I must go through. I…don't know." He was standing, pulling the headphones off. "I just…must. Go. I mean. I'll be back soon."

He left a screeching Lauren behind, walking forward slowly, into the vortex. It sort of tickled, really, walking through. He didn't see the strange man with black eyes either, but suddenly his sneakers were squelching in blood deep as his toes, and he pulled a face. Why did he come back here?

He coughed slightly, trying to move quietly. The place appeared to be just as empty as last time. Maybe the doubles were in Night Vale again. His throat constricted and he turned, intending on going through the vortex again.

It was gone.

"No!" He kicked something once living and squishy, hitting the wall with an open palm. Outside the sandstorm was beginning to die down, leaving in uncomfortable silence. "Open up, take me home! I can't stay here in this hellhole!"

"Excuse me?" The voice made him jump, and Cecil turned. He saw the black eyes and let out a very undignified scream.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, going for his gun. The other man, his mirror image, gave him a puzzled look before setting his coffee on the viscera covered desk.

"What am I doing here? This is my radio station, in a sense. What are you doing here?" He looked over Cecil more critically, squinting slightly before brightening. "Oh! It's you, my double!"

"Your double? Excuse me, but you're _my_ double." Cecil frowned as the man approached him, taking a step back and hitting the wall. He raised the gun. "Stay back. Who are you, where am I, and how do I get back to Night Vale?"

If Cecil had been more himself, he would've noticed that time had been hard on his double, just like him. The man's hair had been cropped, and about his throat was a shiny, faux gold collar with a bulge near the throat. He had lines that denoted tiredness on his otherwise youthful face, and where Cecil had a single streak of white, there were many small strips in this man's hair. He also was wearing a name badge that said, quite simply, Kevin Free.

"I'm Kevin," the man said, confirming his identity. Kevin did notice the changes in Cecil's appearance, giving a sad smile. "You look like you've been through a lot since we last saw each other."

"Kevin," Cecil repeated doubtfully, making Kevin perk up and smile more brightly. He hardly stopped smiling. "Where am I?" He kept his voice slow, insinuating that Kevin wasn't possibly…_normal_.

"You're in Desert Bluffs of course! Come and sit. Did you say Night Vale? Is that where I went last time? How neat! I always wanted to visit Night Vale, I told Caesar so, but I guess I'd already been!" At the mention of Caesar, his smile flickered but didn't totally disappear. "Would you like some coffee? And oh, what's your name?"

"Cecil." He sat obediently enough, gun still out, in his lap. His mind was reeling. He was in Desert Bluffs? How? The vortex? How? "How?"

"How what? How do I make coffee? Oh that's simple. I take the beans from Vanessa, or did as she's gone now, and then we grind them and pour them in the coffee maker, after making the coffee urchin move of course and – "

"No. Kevin." Cecil stood. He was shaking. Being sent to your least favorite town and having no way back, as well as confronting your double (unless you were his) could do that to you. "That's not what I meant." Desert Bluffs. Strexcorp. Carlos. "Kevin, can you take me to Strexcorp's headquarters? I need to see if they have any information about – about someone."

"Strex?" Kevin's hand went to his throat, toying with the collar there. "Why do you want to go to Strex?"

Cecil saw the motion and something clicked. Kevin was smiling, and his eyes were pitch, but he was holding himself very stiffly, shoulders rounded, not quite meeting Cecil's eyes. Kevin was scared. Of Strex? Of Cecil wanting to go to their headquarters? That didn't matter. Kevin was human too. A bit terrifying, but human.

Cecil reached out, gun held securely in the other hand, and patted Kevin on the shoulder. The dark-eyed man looked at him in surprise. "Kevin, I'm certain Strex has done something here too. But…I want to stop them. And I want to find out about what happened to Carlos and my memories." His voice grew stronger as he talked. "I don't like having holes in my knowledge Kevin. So, I'm asking. Please help me."

Kevin was quiet, fingering his collar some more. "Carlos? Has he disappeared too?" Cecil nodded, and Kevin looked down. "Caesar disappeared." Dark eyes flicked up, something scary in his eyes. "They don't want me to remember him, but I do. It doesn't matter how many times they inject me, I remember everything. I'll help you find Carlos Cecil. But only if you help me find Caesar too."

Cecil had no idea who Caesar was, but if it meant getting rid of the nightmares and clearing up the mystery of his missing memories, he'd agree to anything. "Deal." He lifted his gun in warning. "If you try to kill me again though, I won't hesitate."

"I wouldn't expect you too," Kevin said cheerfully, picking up his coffee again. "Though, I do not know what you mean. Last time we met, I tried to hug you, and you hugged back." He left the booth, nearly skipping and not spilling a drop of his coffee.

"Hug?" Cecil scratched the side of his head with his free hand before shrugging it off and following. He kept the gun out just in case.


	24. Panic Attack

It was too hot. Everything was on fire, especially his chest. It was so tight, so hot, he couldn't breath.

Maybe they're cremating me,

came the grim thought. He couldn't even smile.

Hot, hot, he needed the cold, the icy winds and subzero temperatures that meant snow. Pour snow directly into his veins and he'd still be too hot. He had swallowed the sun, that must be it because it was so hot and he was choking, choking, choking. He couldn't breathe because he swallowed the sun and now he was so _hot_.

I need to run I need to run I need to find him him him run it's so hot someone help me why can't I move am I in a box I was buried in a box what happened to me where am I I need to run run run run run

Brown-black eyes opened after an eternity or a millisecond but it was black. He could feel his legs and his arms and his too tight chest and something smooth and plastic going inside his mouth, choking him, pumping air in and out of his chest, in and out, in and out, with no say so from himself. He tried to stop it, tried to keep his chest still, but it kept moving, up and down, up and down, a hypnotic cycle that nevertheless drove him mad.

His eyes couldn't adjust, the blackness beating at his eyeballs relentlessly, or maybe his eyes were still closed, he wasn't sure anymore. There was more plastic, at his nose and curling over his ears, a tight grip on a finger, a panicked beeping somewhere so far away but so close. His chest was so tight, but it still moved without him. Attempting to shift, to see if he could move, meant pain and heat, so much pain, shooting up his leg and spine to strike at his heart. He wanted to cry out, but the plastic snake in his mouth swallowed it and shoved air into his lungs instead.

And then light.

Blazing, painful, white, _oh no I've gone blind or is this heaven what is heaven you can't tell me that god is real oh shit oh shit_ light from somewhere very high and far away, blocked by shadows. Maybe he was abducted. He wanted to laugh but it made him choke and his chest tighten more.

"Pull the tube!"

"He's having a panic attack; we can't pull it out or he'll get worse."

"Well we can't sedate him either. He just woke up; we could lose him for real this time!"

He didn't understand the words being shouted, whispered, spoken plainly, around him, but he did feel his torso shift, up and up, the bed beneath him folding slightly, and then cool plastic hands touching his bare back and sending more pain shooting through his body.

"We're going to pull it out. We need you to cough as hard as you can to help."

Cough? He was already coughing, he was always coughing, but no, that wasn't true. He coughed now, and the snake was leaving. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light, realizing what it was. An endotracheal tube. His brain protested the word, its meaning. He hadn't been breathing. He had been hurt. Where was he?

He was lowered, a smooth, cold but not cold enough, hand on his forehead. "He's on fire," the nurse said. "We need to bring this fever down now."

The tube was gone but he was still choking, trying to breath. He felt someone move his head and a mask go over his mouth, oxygen flooding his nose and mouth, chapping his lips. He gasped and coughed, something loose in his chest. Everything hurt. The light hurt, jabbing at his eyes. The shadows changed into people in pale yellow, soft pastels meant to soothe, but he only panicked. They placed cold packs along his sides, under his arms, and he was grateful for their coldness, like snowballs packed hard and left overnight.

One nurse bent over him, flashing his eyes with a bright light. He stared back, blinking blearily, wondering what other tubes went into his skin and what they were used for. He realized after a minute her eyes were a solid black, not just a trick of his poor eyes.

"Mr. Ricardo, everything is going to be just fine." Something smooth and cold and metal was clipped around his wrist. "We'd just ask for you to not panic. It'd be quite bad if we needed to sedate you."

He couldn't answer, throat too raw, too much pain, struggling to force air in and out on his own. His heart was still beating fast; he could hear the monitor dimly. The lights were flicked off, throwing the room into grey tones, and he tried to focus on breathing. One two three out five four three two one in.

It took him a few minutes to remember the thing attached to his wrist and the tubes that might be going into his arm, so he flopped his head to his side, the pain shooting up before it started throbbing near his temple. There was a handcuff attached to his wrist, the other to his bed, and an IV taped to his lower arm. So he was trapped with the black-sclera people then?

Where was Cecil?

What had happened?

He remembered pain, glass where it shouldn't be, head throbbing, hot desert sun…he was so thirsty and so hot. Cecil…Cecil was all right? _Please let him be all right. I know I don't believe in you god and I don't know if there's one of you or a million if any at all, and if you do exist you're an asshole, but let Cecil be all right._


	25. No Cecil, You're Actually

"Kevin. Kevin, where are we going? Kevin. Are you even listening to me? We're going in circles. Do you even know where the offices are?"

Cecil had tucked the gun away when they got on the streets and it had gotten a few looks from people who looked disturbingly familiar. He followed his double (or his original, whatever) down the streets of a town that was just a bit…_off_. It had the familiarity of Night Vale, with long, wide avenues and storefronts in almost the same positions as his own, but it was like the Secret Police had come in and moved everything to the right by six inches. Just, off.

"I know where I'm going. Calm down Cecil. No one bites that hard here." Kevin turned and grinned at his double, excitement bubbling in his chest. When he saw Cecil didn't have the gun out anymore, he reached back and took Cecil's hand, ignoring how Cecil jumped. With his free hand, he waved at a young girl sweeping the sidewalk clear. "Hi Julie! Be careful; sometimes the sand is sentient and likes to bite!"

"Thanks Kevin!" Julie waved back. There were more greetings too, more curious stares. Kevin was well liked in Desert Bluffs, Cecil realized. Rather like himself.

"Okay, so if you know where we're going, how about you fill me in on that? Or something because this is just…insane. This whole place, the vortex, everything. Insane." He was in Desert Bluffs, his least favorite place in the world, with his double, carrying a gun (something he had stopped doing once he graduated college and realized that the Voice never seemed to get into true trouble, and immediately regretted the decision when Station Management left their office), looking for a man he could only kinda sorta remember. He felt justified in having a minute to panic.

There was a squeeze of his hand and he looked down, and then up, surprised. Kevin had stopped walking and was giving him a concerned look. Well, as concerned as one could look with a half smile plastered on their face. "It's going to be okay Cecil. I know it's scary. Night Vale's scary to me. No." The smile actually faded, the scary thing coming into his eyes again. "It's Strex. Strexcorp is scary." His voice was deep, and Cecil felt a chill as he managed to growl out the corporation's name.

"Ah. Okay. So…has Strex always been here?" Cecil asked once they started walking. Kevin nodded absently, watching the street signs.

"Yeah, as long as I can remember, and I doubt I've forgotten anything too important. They are the major funders of Desert Bluffs actually. About a quarter – hey Dominique! – of the people living here came from Strex itself. Some of them broke off and opened their own places, others were drawn here for a second chance. I don't remember how I got here, but I love working at the station. It's just my niche."

Cecil understood that. He liked working there too, though his thoughts on how he got to the station versus what those cassettes…he shook it off. He needed to find Carlos, and then he could have an existential crisis. Safe. In Night Vale. In his apartment.

"Caesar is amazing. A consulting scientist, he said. He'd come to Desert Bluffs to get away from the research and problems of working in a university." Kevin had continued talking as Cecil tried to reorient himself, again. "He would help me with the science segments of the show. And when Strex got too enthusiastic about their…experiments, he'd help me through that too."

"Ah. That sounds nice. Is Caesar…when did he arrive here?" Cecil asked. If Kevin was Cecil's double, did that mean…

"Oh, a few years ago. He didn't talk to me much at first, said he really didn't want to get dragged into Strex's stuff, but one day I…was hurt. He saved me. And we've been together ever since, at least until he was taken away." Kevin sighed, fingering his collar with a faint smile. "I miss him."

"I miss Carlos." And it was true, he realized with a jolt. Just saying it made him feel like there was a small chasm in his chest where his heart was meant to be. A hand touching his hair made him jump and jerk away from Kevin. "What are you doing?"

"You looked sad. But it's okay." Kevin dropped his hands, and Cecil couldn't quite believe it, but he looked…sad. Disappointed? How could a man whose sclera matched his irises and pupils emote so subtly? How could Cecil recognize it. "You're all knotted up inside Cecil. Come on, we're almost there."

"We're still going in circles!" Cecil exclaimed, making Kevin laugh.

"No, it's like Through the Looking Glass. If you walk a straight line, you'll just keep going the wrong way." As if to prove Kevin's point (and maybe it was listening in), they turned a corner and they were face to face with a low, all white building, except for a bright yellow triangle on the wall. "Welcome to Strexcorp Synernists Incorporated, research liaison. They keep all their files here."

"All their files? Night Vale and Desert Bluffs?" Cecil asked. Kevin was suddenly insignificant; Cecil's entire focus was on the drab office building.

"And Three Pine Hill and New York City, but I don't think we're worried about those places just yet, are we? Come on." Kevin pulled Cecil towards the building, pulling out an id card that let them in. "Everything's hard copy, so it might take some searching."

"Right. Well, let's get started. We're both journalists, right?" Cecil shoved the sleeves of his shirt up, looking around the quiet building, unnerved more by the bits of viscera that seemed to be strewn about than the darkness. Kevin opened a door and flicked on a light so he could start going through the file cabinets. Cecil did the same.

If time doesn't work right in Night Vale, it was basically nonexistent in Desert Bluffs. Cecil was certain he spent three hours digging through the surprisingly large building's file cabinets, flicking through for anything that stood out, but when he looked up, giving his eyes a break, the wall clock proudly proclaimed that maybe the whole afternoon had passed.

"Kevin, have you found anything yet?" he called, trudging down the hall and opening the next door. More file cabinets, none of them marked. "Kevin?" He paused and turned, looking for the other man.

Kevin was reading, back and shoulders tense, apparently oblivious to his double calling for him. Cecil found him in the room he had stopped at, bending over to read the name on one of the strewn about papers. Caesar. Right. He should leave Kevin alone then. He went back to his search, pulling open a drawer.

Night Vale, Voice of

He blinked and looked again. Yes, that definitely was his office, or title, or whatever. He took the file and set it aside. It was surprisingly thick. There was another one a few drawers down. _Palmer, Cecil_ Much thinner, but he pulled it out as well. The last drawer in this particular cabinet was full of tapes and a tape player. He scooped out several and set it up to play as he kept searching.

the landscape and lighting of that barren little world from a moment where you exist, to a moment where you do not, will be minimal, and unrelated to your passing. From a car window driving on a highway, looking up at a moon framed by incidental clouds, the surface will be the same muddle of mystery and distance it alwa –

He stopped his rifling to hit the stop button, fast. He could feel a fresh sweat running down his back and suddenly his heart was in his ears. He remembered that day. He had found some cassette tapes and started playing them on air. Hey, it'd been a slow news day, and his listeners wanted something from him, right?

He remembered destroying the tapes, but he didn't expect to find a recording of his show. Looking at all the tapes, he realized it was possible they were all recordings. But why? He licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair, white and black striping his vision before he pushed it away. Cecil turned back, fingers brushing through his hair again when he hit the file he was looking for.

Ricardo, Carlos

"Ah ha!" He shoved the tapes off the desk and sat in the cleared space, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. He flipped open and scanned the first page. There was a picture – Carlos looked surprisingly smooth cheeked and young in it, and Cecil realized Night Vale must've aged the poor man something fierce for him to look at least a decade older than his birthdate suggested – and he touched it, feeling a pang of longing. Then he started reading, discovering Carlos' birth name was Claudia, he had a fairly large extended family, part of which suffered from cancer. Cecil flipped the page, wincing when he saw some transcripts of shows he only vaguely remembered if he tried really hard to remember the context, and quickly flipped the page again before he gave himself a headache.

A list of injuries, dating from when Carlos apparently first arrived. There were some bad ones, and the page filled up, spilled over to the next. He skimmed three pages, wincing sympathetically every now and then (sudden gravity loss related concussion, that sounded painful).

car crash, broken ribs on right side, extensive bruising and cuts on face, hands, arms. Gunshot to leg and graze on chest. Near death by blood loss

"Near death?" He turned the page, but it was a new part of the file, talking about the various research Carlos had been doing. But he didn't care. It had said near death, not death. As in possibly still alive?

He didn't remember Carlos hitting the ground.

When the file said nothing about where Carlos was currently or if he was still alive, he sighed and set it aside, picking up his own file, the one labeled Cecil Palmer. There was a curious red X stamped next to his name.

The file was very similar to Carlos' but the picture was one from his teens. He was smiling, and ugh, were those braces? He wore the red shirt of an intern. Cecil shook his head. How embarrassing. Maybe they had more pictures further in the file?

He didn't immediately notice the red X's over his eyes as he flipped to find his list of injuries. He touched his throat, remembering how one of the cassettes had the sounds of him choking. Maybe now he could find the reason.

The list of injuries was fairly short. He had had a surgery when he was two to put tubes in his ears, to help water drain out. They were removed a year later. Twisted his ankle practicing for marching band when he was fourteen.

The list abruptly ended with a single, carefully typed word.

Deceased, age 17

It took a moment for the word to click. Deceased was just a fancy way of saying dead.

Cecil Palmer was dead?

He dropped the file, the scant paperwork scattering with the help of the air conditioner.

He was dead.

After a moment of stunned silence, frozen in place with shock, he reached up, grabbed at his shirt, palm pressed flat against his chest. A spike of panic went through him when he couldn't feel a heartbeat, and then he remembered, sticking two fingers to his neck. A panicked _lub dub_ greeted him, as well as warmth, blissfully living warmth, blood pumping through his veins and arteries, keeping him alive.

But the file said he was dead, had died when he was young. He couldn't remember anything, when he strained, his vague memories actually disappeared.

Kevin. Kevin would explain it. He hopped up, trying to walk but ending up in a jerky run for the short distance. "Kevin!" Kevin looked up. He had tears in his eyes, but that wasn't important for the moment. "Kevin, my file says I'm dead. But that's not true because I'm here. I'm Cecil Palmer, right?"

Kevin blinked, rubbing his eyes slightly. A smile automatically hid his discomfort. "No, Cecil, you aren't. You may call yourself that, but you killed the real Cecil Palmer years ago."

The sincerity of Kevin's statement, even delivered through tears and an obviously faked smile, hit Cecil hard. He fell to his knees, at a total loss of what to do.

"How?" he asked, but Kevin stood, leaving Cecil to himself, Caesar's file open. There was a picture, the spitting image of Carlos, if a little less worn, with red X's over each eye and next to his name.

Deceased.


	26. Time Doesn't Work the Same

The problem with the room was that Carlos wasn't sure how much time was passing by. The window apparently had blackout curtains as it never changed from solid black, and there were no clocks. He tried to keep approximate time with meals, but it took him a bit to realize he wasn't getting any meals the regular way. Everything was being fed to him through some tubes. No one really had to come and do anything except check on him occasionally.

The first time they lifted his blankets was to change his catheter. He had hated every minute of it, grateful that they didn't take his gown off as well and fully expose his body to the world. It was still humiliating, even with their sterile procedure, and he couldn't hide the choked sound he made when they brushed against his inner thighs. Luckily they left him alone after that, leaving him time to break down before he calmed.

They bathed him later, a simple sponge bath with cold water since he had a fever, and that was humiliating. They didn't even take him off the bed, just laid down a tarp for whatever reason before stripping him completely. He had shut his eyes at first, but the hands on his legs and on his stomach was too much for the man, and he finally opened them, gasping when he saw his body.

His stomach was much flatter than it was supposed to be, and his legs looked positively brittle. There were no bandages; however long he'd been there been enough to heal his body it seemed, but they weren't giving him testosterone either, meaning what little fat he had was being sent to all the wrong places. When one of the nurses cleaned between his breasts, he gritted his teeth and turned his head to the side, trying not to lash out with his unbound arm. He didn't want to lose the little autonomy he had.

Needless to say, he was fairly resistant to that happening again, even tucking the sheets around his body the best he could so the nurses could struggle. He hid his tears. He figured out quickly that these people wouldn't care.

If they were people. They all had black sclera and irises that blended perfectly with their pupils, so it was impossible for him to know what they were looking at. And they all spoke in a fairly flat, generic voice that bordered on alien. Or robotic.

"Mr. Ricardo, please stop this. You still need your catheter changed."

He shook his head weakly, but didn't stop them from physically moving him about to reach the annoying but useful tube. He wondered briefly if they were keeping him feverish and weak on purpose so they didn't have to release him. Then his handcuff rattles as he tried to move later that day and he realized he probably wouldn't be allowed to leave even if he was properly healthy.

He decided to assume his catheter was being changed once a day. If that was true, it was a week before he was allowed to eat soft foods, applesauce, jello, some sort of puree that smelled suspiciously of baby food. The ice packs under his arms and along his body disappeared one night while he dozed, and he did start feeling better. Maybe the food had something to do with it.

He still wasn't allowed up, let alone out. But he was building his strength, and while he did, he was thinking. It was a dangerous thing to do, letting a scientist think.

One morning, or afternoon, or something, he was being served a small snack of baby carrots and celery, chewing and trying not to get strings of celery stuck in his teeth when he decided to try, yet again, to strike up a conversation with his caretaker/capturer.

"So, your hair looks nice today," he offered. It was in a tight, high bun, and this nurse, he couldn't exactly figure out if they were a guy or a woman, looked at him in disbelief before changing out the IV bag. "I mean it. It really shows off your…neck."

"Mr. Ricardo, you aren't supposed to be talking until you've made a full recovery. Your throat is still raw from when we removed the tube."

"I'll stop when it starts hurting," he promised, making an X over his heart. "I just want to know where I am."

"Desert Bluffs General Hospital. Some Strex suits dragged you in, all beat up, and requested you stay here and recover." Their face remained blank as they spoke, finishing up with the IV. They turned to leave.

"Wait. What happens you you've decided I fully recovered?" he asked, leaning forward until the nurse turned around.

"You'll be taken by Strex for observation." The nurse left, and he fell back into bed, exhausted from the motion.

A few days later he was allowed up to begin his physical therapy. The same day a collar, plain black and made out of some high quality plastic, was attached to his neck. He could feel something prick his skin as it was put on, but tried not to think anything of it, even when they took the handcuffs off and left them off the day after the collar was put on.

He tried not to think about it too much. Once he got to Strexcorp he ought to be able to dig up some information on Cecil and contact him. Find out how long he'd been in this hospital. So he took to physical therapy with great enthusiasm, though he did start asking for a renewal on his HRT.

He was pleasantly surprised when they allowed him to start taking his shots again. Apparently even Desert Bluffs wasn't so evil to allow him to remain too uncomfortable in his skin. He sighed. Too bad the real world wasn't like that.


End file.
